


Once and Again

by Kmandergirl



Series: Idalya Mahariel Stories [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol is bad, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Chant of Light worship, Chantry smut, Character Death, Destructive Coping, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Trauma, Everyone's going to die of Cirrhosis, F/M, Graphic Description, Graphic Violence, Graphic descriptions of war, Lots of naughty language, M/M, Memory Loss, Necromancy, Now with beta, Orlesians are the worst, PTSD, Regret, Self-Harm, Smut, Suffering, Suicide, Unrequited Love, Violence, Warden joins Inquisition, Zombie Nightmares, eye rolling, long lost loves, rewritten, so many feels, this is the darkest timeline, uncomfortable situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 87,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kmandergirl/pseuds/Kmandergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had done it once, and it wasn't fair that they wanted her to do it again. Would they ask for her life a second time, or could Idalya take the broken pieces of her memory and make a better world this time?</p>
<p>An alternative universe where the Hero of Ferelden finds out that death isn't sacrifice enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chapter Where the End is Just the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final battle for Ferelden's survival. Their job is to distract the Archdemon until Alistair can make the killing blow, but Idalya Mahariel has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the rewritten Once & Again! For those returning, I hope you enjoy the changes and additions. For those new to the story? Welcome! I'm excited to share this story with you.

It hadn’t been going well. One by one, Idalya Mahariel’s group had fallen under the attacks of the Archdemon. She rolled out of the way as a wall of flame poured across the battlefields, engulfing the last, lingering members of the dwarves and elves that marched with the Wardens for this last battle. They fought with courage; they fought with hope, and they fought knowing they were the only thing keeping Thedas clinging to survival.

She listened to their death cries, filling the surrounding air. Their screams barraged her ears as she covered her mouth with a filthy hand, trying to keep the smoke and ashes of her burning allies from overtaking her senses. The street of Denerim lined with ash from its burning alienage.

These flakes, floating on the breeze, the remaining pieces of the people who’d helped her make to the platform she fought on now. Her skin crawled at their intimate touch as she brushed the feathered bits from her face.

Morrigan launched fireballs into the dragon’s snout on the far side of the battlefield. her staff circled her head as her mana churned out repeated plumes of fire. She screamed taunts at the beast to keep its attention and advancement directed towards her, buying the others on the field precious seconds. Her jet-black hair soaked in perspiration, sticking against her cheekbones, her golden eyes glowed with anger as she screamed out a summons in ancient languages foreign to Idalya.

Alistair protected the mage from the waves of demons sprinting at them to protect their master, and like a tide breaking against the shore, so broke the legions of darkspawn as they met a grisly end at the warrior’s sword and shield. His face pulled into a grimace, streaks of tainted blood smeared across his helm, his caramel eyes locked with Idalya’s through the legs of the shifting dragon. A resigned sadness emanated from within them before he broke the glance to swing his broadsword at the next wave of darkspawn encroaching on his barrier of support.

With a frustrated grunt, Wynne forced healing magic into Zevran’s broken body. Leliana drug the incapacitated elf away from the action of battle, leaving a crimson trail along the dirty ground. The auburn-haired sister released a sob, hand grasped at her throat as she watched her lover’s blood spread across the blackened stones. No stranger to battle, Wynne grabbed the rogue, shouting at her to return to help those still up and fighting. Dropping to her knees, ash being lifted into the air, Wynne closed her eyes. She summoned all the power accessible to her then channeled it through her fingers into the rasping body of the dying Crow.

Oghren tried in vain to find survivors from the dwarves of whom he’d just watched burn to catastrophe by a wayward shot from the fearsome dragon. Between swings of his mighty ax, he checked the bodies scattered around, looking for any survivors, but found them charred beyond recognition. Tears threatened to well up in the dwarf’s eyes, but it was not the time. He would remember his battling comrades later, with an ale in his hand as he shouted and slurred about the grand adventures of a stubborn group of dwarves that took on an archdemon, but first, he needed to survive the swinging claws of the great beast.  

As a fireball exploded between its eyes, the archdemon took its gaze off Idalya to focus its attacks on Morrigan. The elf knew this was the moment; the inevitability setting into her exhausted bones like a cool breeze in the center of a roaring summer storm. Sprinting as fast as her legs carried her, she focused away from the smoke burning her throat with every inhale. She struggled to refill her lungs as even her Warden stamina neared empty, her steps faltering as she forced her body onward.

Her trusted broadsword was lost early in battle after her body had been whipped across the field by a flick of the dragon’s snake-like tail. As she ran, she grabbed a great sword covered in stinking demon gore out of the hands of a bloodied corpse lying broken on the ground. She pushed her legs to keep running until she lined up with the tail of the dragon, gasping for breath she could no longer hear, her pulse pounding like a distant, angry drum.

Never hesitating, she launched herself at the demon’s scales, climbing the creature as deftly as her muscles would allow. She perched on its back, the demon still unaware of her presence. She worked her way up its spine, careful with her steps so as not to alert the beast intent on burning her companions alive.

She continued until located at the base of the great dragon’s neck. Her stomach lurched as she looked down, the ground far below her, wind rushing through her ears as the dragon jerked his head. Drawing her sword up, she stalled.

This had not been the plan.

Alistair was the warden destined to take the final blow, to destroy not only the beast but sacrifice his own life. They fought about this– hours and hours in circles offering no exit. They were stubborn, both too embroiled in the outcome, and neither could let go of the hopes and fears driving them onward. At the end when explaining it one more time made her more nauseous than her failure to make her point she had agreed. She relented, giving him what he wanted, and she took solace on the wavering look of relief it brought to his face.

She had lied. It was the only lie she ever told him, but she clung to the reasons she told it to ease her conscience. He was too important to Ferelden - and to her heart - to let him waste himself on chivalry. Alistair had an entire life and kingdom waiting for him after the Blight ended. Idalya only had him, and after the Landsmeet, she no longer had that. Alistair and Anora would take Ferelden into a new age, and she was glad she would never have to see it.

He would never forgive her for lying to him. Luckily, it wasn’t a decision she’d have to live with long.

Idalya’s eyes met Alistair’s as he fought to protect Morrigan and Wynne below the dragon. Realization and fear took over the confidence in his gaze as he understood what she was doing. Her deception and its poison filled him, and she knew he understood she never intended on letting him carry out this task.

Her name left his lips, echoing across the battlefield as she pulled the sword far above her head. For a moment everything slowed, the sun breaking through the clouds of ash to paint her in a ray of light she saw as an encouragement. The cries of the fallen faded, the roaring of the dragon disappeared, a strange song of light and peace filling her, from head to toe. She knew she had won, and that it had been the right thing to do.

Then she drove the steel deep into the demon’s neck. Alistair’s cry ripped through the scarred air before being drowned out by the shrill screech of the dying archdemon. The two screams blended in her ears as her heart thundered through her body, blocking out every other sound. She pulled her sword from its neck and closed her lavender eyes. She exhaled as she drove it down again, severing the remaining muscles and tendons of the monster’s neck.

A force pushed into her abdomen like a fist, her body seizing, as she lost her grip on the dragon’s scale. She had known it was coming, had known this was the price, but she had not known it would hurt so badly. As the spirit of the demon tried to pass and possess her, scrambling through her veins alongside the bitter taint and vacant hopes, her body filled with flame.  
Falling through the sky, she sensed the Old God's rage as its spirit died within her flesh-covered cell. Her limbs filled with stars escaping through every inch of her skin, piercing a million holes through her body as the two souls warred within her. The soul of a creature that deigned itself a god, older than their known history, being torn asunder by a mere mortal who lived so little but had survived so much.

Her last thoughts were that they had done it, they were safe, and then it was over. Embraced by the darkness, that thought was her last.

******

It was dark. So dark. The tiniest tingling sensation moved in her fingertips as though a wind being drawn across them. The feeling spread ~~in~~ to her palm; the electricity moving its way through her body, each inch snapping and crackling as it discovered existence once more. She couldn’t see or move or sense anything else, but she was… alive?

Something about this was off. Energy rolled through her, wave after wave, bringing a deep shadow to the back of her mind. She had no real notions about what death was before she achieved it, but every instinct told her this was not what it was. She was alive, and the wrongness of that permeated every inch of her waking self. Her mind, or form, or whatever it may have been at this moment, itched with the need to escape. She wanted to run, to shy away like a roach hissing at the kiss of a torch’s flame, but she couldn’t yet move.

Her body jerked awake, the lightning that had been a murmur becoming a scream as it sparked and shot across her limbs, searing her with unimaginable pain as though being laid in a bed of hot coals. Heavy winds deafened her as sound returned, and her ears ached with the sound of the screaming that filled her head. Everything throbbed and writhed so she could not shut out the horrible sounds, and with mounting panic, she realized that the scream was her own

Violent waves of pain took her senses, her screaming uncontrollable as they scorched her tender limbs. Fire itself crawled out of her bones and across her abdomen, consuming her from without and within. She was losing whatever consciousness she had to the pain as she drifted in and out of awareness. As her senses became sharper, she realized that she was not alone, that there were many others talking around her, their voices harried and nervous.

“What is happening to her? Did it work?” The woman’s thick Orlesian accent caught her attention and Idalya’s screams faded as she searched for the source of the voice.

“I do not know. We are in uncharted waters, Leliana.” the other woman was frightened. Idalya heard the uncertain shaking in her voice.

“Lel… Leliana…,” her voice cracked under the simplest of words. A sigh of relief  was released before she moved closer.

“Oh, Dal! Thank the Maker, it’s you.” The rogue’s voice was thick with emotion she attempted to hide. “I... I was so worried that the spell had not worked.”

What was going on? “Spell? I can’t see, Leliana,” Every word hurt as it escaped her lips, and she gasped for breath as the pain kept swirling through her body.

“It’s a… it’s a complicated story we can’t discuss, Dal. I promise you, everything will be okay. I need you to stay strong until you’re healed.” Leaning in close, the Orlesian whispered, “I have missed you so, my friend.”

Leliana’s voice betrayed her concern and fear. Both these women were afraid of her, and Idalya became afraid as pinpoints of light grew in front of her eyes. As the light beamed brighter, fire poured through her sockets and she screamed, her back arching as her muscles fought off the crushing pain burning her skull from the inside out. The pain only increased as the light grew unbearable until the universe came into focus with a sickening  _pop_.

Her eyes could not adjust to the light as they ached each time she opened them. Over time, pictures made their way through her sight, and she knew she was inside some stone-lined room, surrounded by a ring of mages unfamiliar to her. Their heads bent in focus with their staffs raised above her body as a jade mist swirled around the room.

Her eyes flicked over to her side to realize the searing pain in her hand was that half of it was missing. The bones and remaining tendons of her fingers spasmed, her skeletal fingers curling. She screamed a blood-curdling wail and sunk into unconsciousness again. A door burst open somewhere nearby, and she heard a man yelling in the distance, demanding an explanation regarding what the mages had done, but he sounded very far away.  

Mages shuffled around her on all sides, the smell of sickly sweet mana swirling around her body. Pieces of their murmurs drifted by her ears as her sensitive hearing returned. _Corpse. Decayed. Rotted. Tattered. Maker. The undeniable strain of retching._ Each sound raising her anxiety over what happened, as she felt the void calling for her. A hand in the darkness pulling her under the waves as she struggled to breathe.

_People were frightened, and they were frightened of her._

“Let me die.” She sobbed as the abyss drew near, begging and pleading with no one in particular, to anyone that might listen. “Just let me _die_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will come quickly as I get the story caught up to the end of Adamant. Overall the story will have more chapters, but fewer words as I aggressively edited. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	2. The Chapter Where Idalya Discovers What's Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hero of Ferelden wakes from a nightmare to find herself in a strange place. Where is she and what has happened while she slumbered?

The sounds of paper rustling stirred Idalya, alerting her to someone moving within the vicinity. Opening her eyes, she found they were no longer as sensitive to light as when the fire poured through the sockets of her skull. She glanced around the room before opening her involuntary squint expecting the excruciating pain to begin again.

This was no place Idalya recognized, the walls made of a uniform gray stone; the air holding a biting chill gripping into her bones even while hidden under stacks of blankets and furs piled on top of her. The woman, who woke her, straightened piles of scrolls, collecting empty dishes and vials unaware that the warden watched her.

“Identify yourself, servant.” The elf stiffened, turning to face Idalya, her eyes wide in horror as her hand tried to find purchase on the desk behind her.

“I’m so sorry to have disturbed your slumber, my Lady,” the woman bowed and Idalya noted she backed away, drawn towards the exit door.

“No need to apologize; also, not a lady. Can you please send a message? I need to speak to the leader of this camp, army or whatever this is.” The servant nodded and exited letting the heavy wooden door slam behind her sending a gush icy air across the room. Idalya shuddered, the cold ripping through her body until she doubled over in pain from tremors that seized up her limbs.

She laid still under the mountain of furs piled on her. Without clear danger, there was no reason for not hiding under the furs until she warmed again. Flexing the muscles in her legs, the heat returned through her sore and aching limbs while she analyzed her surroundings. Nothing telltale in the structure of the room to identify where was, nor any sense of darkspawn anywhere close.

What she sensed was a deep vibration of magic flowing through the heart of the building itself as though the building hummed to itself soothing those that walked its stones daily with a silent lullaby. Tables lined all sides of the room covered with texts, books, and scrolls with piles on the floor the servant was clearing before she startled the woman to death.

Small rays of sun cut through the tapestries hanging in the window and draping across the blankets thrown over her, spots of heat over her body making her sigh in relief as it dispersed like a network of fingers spreading life again. As images from her nightmare came tumbling back into her brain, she adjusted the furs covering the hand she remembered vividly missing its sleeve of flesh.

She drew her breath, as she tried to still her heart threating to run rampant from her chest as she pulled the cover off to find her hand appeared fine, no bones, and no missing flesh. _Huh._ Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the top applying pressure to pull the skin taunt, sore but no injury showed. She released the sigh she was holding and thanked the Maker it was only a nightmare. She flopped back onto the covers, fingers massaging her temples. This must be in the lodging of one of her allies, but how she entered she had no memory of.

What was the last thing she remembered? Every time she tried to think of what happened before the nightmare, the visions blurred, pushing into greater disorder. Every memory coated in a hazy fog, a barrier preventing her from seeing clearly. _My head injury must be worse than I suspected._ Someone would come to her soon to help her sort out what left her stranded in a strange bed.

Footsteps approached against the stone floors a tapping echo that vibrated inside her ears. Leliana emerged through the doorway, sunlight flowing over her shoulders, as she closed the door behind her Idalya’s hand rested over her eyes as her pupils dilated only aggravating the headache threatening to take over her mind. Her friend dressed in deep amethyst robes she didn’t recognize with a dark purple hood hiding her face and lovely red hair. In her hands, she carried a wide silver tray. The bard looked tired, dark circles cut into the layers of her pale skin, lines formed around the edges of her eyes.

“I'm surprised to see you awake, my Lady. You’ve had a trying night.” Her voice sounded strange, her Orlesian accent dulled to the slightest emphasis on words.

The rogue approached and sat beside her on the bed setting the tray on a nearby nightstand. Idalya searched Leliana’s face to remember what happened. There was something hovering close to her mind she couldn’t make sense of. A fuzzy truth so tangible in front of her she could reach out and caress it.  

“I assume you have many questions for me now.” Leliana avoided eye contact and her hand twitched before settling over a silver-handled hairbrush with thick boar bristles laying on the tray.

“Where am I, Leliana? How did I get here?” She found no clues to explain where she was. “Why am I here? I can’t remember. I’m… scared, it’s true. Something is wrong…” Her words trailed off as she as the truth cascaded past her lips before she could control it.

It was true. Somewhere deep in her soul, she was terrified of the unknown.

Leliana observed her while she reached for a sealed glass bottle on the tray. She popped a cork on the vial, coating her hands in an oil with a fragrance like a summer day in the streets of Denerim, spicy with a lingering whiff of orange reminding her of the marketplace on any afternoon. Bringing her hands together to warm the liquid, Leliana pushed her fingers into Idalya’s scalp and worked through the tangled nest of knots in her long white hair as she spoke.

“We’ll start with the easier questions: you’re in a place called Skyhold. It is the base of operations for the Inquisition. A trusted group of mages brought you here as part of a very dangerous mission. Idalya, you are here because the world is in danger and we need your help.”

“Wait. The Inquisition?” She'd never heard of this group outside of the ancient Inquisition, the people who established the Chantry and Templar, or ever known of Leliana’s affiliation with this group. Her lavender eyes darted around the room, suspicious and on guard, as she noted the exits available to her. “Why do they need my help?”

Leliana sighed as she drew the brush through Idalya’s tresses freeing hairs from the tangles. “And that, my Lady, is where this story gets a lot more complicated.” She paused pulling the brush firmer through a larger know. “There is an ancient darkspawn magister named Corypheus who used ancient Elven magic to tear a rift in the sky itself. He plans to use this magic to walk into the Fade itself and conquer the Black City and their ancient gods. To help accomplish this task, he resurrected an Archdemon, the Archdemon you killed to end the fifth blight…”

Idalya’s eyes widened. _The Archdemon_. How had she forgotten the Archdemon? That’s what happened; the memories flooded her head watching the dwarves and elves scorched to death. A wave of nausea passed over her at the reminder of the smell of her burning allies. Her hand ached remembering bringing down the sword to the neck of the mighty dragon and of stars exploding through her body as they pierced through her.

 _How could the demon live after having its head cut off_? Her mind spun trying to piece everything back together, blurred spots still existing as she tried to remember the rest of the battlefield.

“Okay. So, the Archdemon survived, what are our options? Do we have any resources remaining that survived the battle?” Trying to remember the battle pained her, a stabbing radiating through her skull. Cringing, she pressed her hands tighter against her temples. Something called to her, reaching for her, begging for her to remember in these memories, but she couldn't find it. Her head throbbed as her vision in the present spotted and she struggled to focus on what Leliana said as her vision became as blurry as her memories.

“Our allies are a complicated issue- the mages and Templar are now at war over their escalating feud. And no, the Archdemon did not survive, my Lady.” She turned her eyes away from Idalya, staring out into the empty part of the room.

“The Archdemon was slain?” Her mind replayed holding the sword and severing its spine behind her eyes. “How is that so? I’m sitting here talking to you right now. Was the Warden magic untrue?”

Leliana returned the brush and vial to the silver tray before wiping her hands on a towel. She rose and headed for the door her head pointed down towards her boots. Reaching the door, her hand paused on the handle for excruciating moments before she looked back meeting Idalya’s eyes and sighed, sadness swelling over her features.

“No Dal, the Warden magic was true. When the Archdemon died, you also perished with it over ten years ago.” She opened her lips to speak but shut them before lowering her eyes in shame and sliding out the door.

The cold rushing past her again to chill Idalya’s frozen bones once more as the warden laid there frozen in shocked silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	3. The Chapter Where Leliana Explains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana has been summoned to explain what's happened to the leaders of the Inquisition. Have her decisions hurt the fledgling organization?

Leliana was used to speed walking through the stone corridors of Skyhold. Her boots slipping between servants and couriers who traveled the halls at a more relaxed pace. After leaving her discussion with Idalya, Leliana owned no sense of urgency to arrive at the War Room to face the questioning faces of the Inquisitor and her peers.

Her mind was reeling from the circumstances of the last twenty-four hours. For years she'd served as Justinia's Left Hand. With that position came an understanding that actions have consequences, but nothing had prepared her for the guilt threatening to collapse her into oblivion. The guilt was a raging beast inside her chest, clawing and screaming with every beat of her betrayer’s heart.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw Idalya’s decayed corpse writhing on the table, magic swirling around the room converging around her body until a scream pierced the air terrifying Leliana more than any sound she’d ever heard. How long had it been since she’d known real fear? Its terror grafting its way into the shell of her bones?

_What had she done?_

The answer to that question was a lot more complicated than she was ready to admit.

Reaching the heavy wooden door that served as the entrance to the War Room, she paused. The urge to flee without having to face the unknown consequences of her actions became more appealing as she stood motionless.

All night she’d perched at the top of the rotunda with her ravens, preparing her defense when Evelyn’s summons had arrived. For minutes she’d stood in the hallway, letting the mountain breeze from the Frostbacks blow through the broken patches of the wall to run across her skin. The bite of the ice-frosted mountain’s sigh was painful as she tried to calm herself, hiding the crushing level of guilt living in her eyes begging everyone to see.

When able to breathe without a stutter to her lungs, she pushed the door open and entered the room. Her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight filling the room, the curtains drawn, blocking out all natural light.

The Inquisitor sat in a high-backed chair deep in thought, her hand covering the lower half of her face from any discernible reaction. Her other hand fisted around a glass that reeked of whiskey.

While most residents in Skyhold had just broken their morning fast, Inquisitor Evelyn was a good way through her first decanter of the day. Her mane of auburn hair blew from the breeze of the shutting door, billowing the long curls around her shoulders. She stared at the war table in front of her, her eyes unreadable in the hanging darkness in the room.

Commander Cullen kept his face pointed at the table as he dug through piles of correspondence in frustration. His lips were moving without a sound as he pulled out one sheet of parchment after another, keeping his eyes glued on his paperwork and ignorant of the tension in the room.

Cullen was over his head in most conversations with the three women at the war table- his focus torn between trying to keep his eyes off the Inquisitor, his lyrium withdrawal symptoms, and his frequent eye-rolling over any discussion of politics. He was a gifted statistician and commander. Any problem Cullen couldn’t hammer to death, he would instead eye roll his way to the same conclusion until the other advisers would dismiss him with furrowed brows.

Josephine, the ambassador for peace in occupation and life, was the only person making eye contact. The tension was so thick it hung like a fog. Her honed diplomatic expression of neutrality failed as she saw the pain lingering in Leliana’s eyes crawling its bloody way to the surface. Josephine took a deep breath, stepping forward to the table to speak.

Before she uttered a word Cullen slammed his fist down on the table sending enemy markers flying, toppling to the floor rolling in all directions- a metaphor of how dispersed and chaotic their allies were. “What were you thinking, Leliana?” He roared across the wooden table, his voice echoing in the rafters, clearing away the last of the left-behind cobwebs. “ _She trusted you_!”

Cullen, a man who never shared the inner dialogue that rambled inside his thick skull was screaming at her, over the war table no less. His arms clenched to his sides, massive hands making fists tight enough that his scarred knuckles were turning white. He was shaking, his breaths drawn in erratic patterns, eyes burning in intensity towards her. She knew this man well enough over the decade their paths crossed to understand his level of self-control, otherwise, she’d have had both of her daggers out in front of her bracing for impact by the fuming beast of a man.

Josephine was fretting over her board of secrets, “ _Necromancy_ on the Hero of Ferelden? Oh, what would we do if our allies find out?” She threw her writing board onto the table, papers falling out of their usual immaculate order on the barren surface since Cullen’s fist had cleared the previous occupants. “This will ruin us, Leliana, and anything we’ve accomplished here!” Josephine sat down in a vacated chair, desperation rolling off her sepia skin as she looked to the other two advisers for any declaration of reassurance that wasn’t coming.

The Inquisitor remained silent this whole time, her olive eyes focused on an invisible point in the distance before she looked over to Leliana, narrowing in contemplation. “Why?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory unlike the two advisers, which surprised her.

Pointing fingers and shifting blame was one of Evelyn’s favorite past times. That the woman sat quietly while analyzing the situation, shook Leliana to her core. She met Leliana’s eyes and regarded her. “We may not agree on methods, but I believe you have always done what needed to be done for the Inquisition. What made this necessary?” The unspoken question, _and why didn_ _’t you tell me first,_ lingered in the air.

“After the Corypheus attacked us with the dragon at Haven,” Leliana began, her voice wavering. She doubted any of them would notice. “I sent out my spies to find everything possible. Nothing came back for some time and I exhausted every contact of the Inquisition until I got a lead on a lot of rare and unusual supplies requested and purchased in secret in a magical black market in Denerim.

"My contact followed the purchaser to a what appeared to an abandoned island between the Free Marches and Trevinter where they found an outsider group of Wardens preparing for a very large summoning. After their spell was over, the wardens left the island, leaving valuable evidence behind. My contact found forgotten parchments left behind explaining the purpose of the summoning was for the dragon that Corypheus used to reign destruction on Haven.”

The Inquisitor’s face paled, the memories as fresh to her as anyone else here.

“They summoned an archdemon into this world.” She paused, waiting until the Inquisitor gave her a reluctant nod to continue.

“When Fiona examined the books used by the Wardens to bring forth the demon, she realized that it was not just an archdemon. They had resurrected, _Urthemiel_ , the archdemon of the fifth blight using magic placing part of Corypheus’ spirit itself inside the beast. Corypheus and this monster are now one.” She looked up at the other advisers who looked away from their notes to give her their full attention.

“This information stays here,” all three nodded in understanding. She was walking a shaking tightrope to plead her case, holding her cards tight to her breast. “When you slay an Archdemon, its spirit travels into the closest vessel with the taint to save itself. That’s why a Gray Warden needs to be the one to strike the final blow, to house the spirit unto its destruction.”

Cullen sighed in the corner, his head rolling back against the wall with a _thud_ , “That’s why you were so anxious when the Wardens disappeared overnight. You knew what Corypheus is.” His hand rubbed against the skin on the back of his neck raw as he took in the Inquisitor's blank explanation. “Are all the wardens working with him?”

“I don't know. I have located no Wardens other than Blackwall, so far,” she replied. “With the archdemon being raised, Fiona, after many days of research realized there was a loophole created by this unique and powerful magic.” _Blood magic._ She paused looking down at her hands gripping the sides of the table, her fingers numb from the loss of circulation. “Idalya Mahariel, the Hero of Ferelden, possessed the spirit of the archdemon itself when she… _perished_. While she remained dead, the Fade would protect the demon from harm while part of it already had its foot in the Fade for Corypheus.

“I sent my spies to bring her remains from their burial spot to Skyhold under the cover of night. Fiona and a group volunteer of former circle mages repeated the spell, summoning her spirit from the beyond, and back into her remains. They healed time's destruction of her body as she screamed in torment for hours on end.

"The demon’s spirit no longer rests in the Fade and we have the ability to slay it, should it attack us again.” Her heart ached, the pain spreading along the lining of her ribs, as her sins spilled past her lips to her most trusted friends and colleagues. She’d pray to the Maker for forgiveness if she wasn’t convinced he’d strike her down on the spot.

“My job in this inquisition is to complete impossible things. Tasks no one should be asked to do. I have never failed you.” She hardened her jaw towards the other three as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin faking bravery. “Now we have a fighting chance against Corypheus.”

Three sets of eyes stared at her in disbelief and as a light breeze blew across the room, she realized tears trailed out of her own. She wiped them away, impatient at her display of emotion, and turned to head for the door in embarrassment when she needed to stay focused on her job.

The Inquisitor stopped her, the woman’s smoky voice halting her mid-step.

“Leliana, all magic has a cost. What we will have to pay?” Leliana stopped at the door and turned back to face, wiping stubborn tears that refused to stop falling.

Images of Idalya’s twisted and screaming corpse appeared in front of her eyes blinding her as she closed them, her teeth biting into her lower lip to contain her own. “Have no fear my lady, the cost of the magic has already been paid.” Pulling her hood over her head, Leliana slipped away into the darkened and chilled halls of Skyhold leaving the Inquisitor and her advisers sitting in shocked silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	4. The Chapter Where Idalya Meets the Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander of the Inquisition forces drops by to check on Idalya. Is he the link to what she's forgotten?

_“Mama, mama.” She propped her nose up on the edge of the bed as she watched her mother sleep. Her dark curls framed her heart-shaped face, long dark lashes that spread across the golden umber planes of her cheeks, as her chest drifted up and down weighed down by the weight of the Fade. “MAMA.” At her hissing whisper, her mother flinched, rolling to her side until she popped a violet eye open at her eager daughter._

_“Everything okay, Dal?” she yawned, stretching her arms to the side as she twisted her back with a groan. She slept in her servant’s clothes again, far more ornate than an elf would wear in the Alienage, from her evening shift serving King Maric and the other royals in the castle._

_“I missed you!” the girl whispered, at least she tried to whisper but just hissed again at her patient mother, still hidden below the edge of the bed._

_Her mother laughed a rich and warm sound that echoed in their meager housing and stretched out her arms which Idalya, without hesitation, crawled onto the bed into the circle of the woman_ _’s arms. They laid there in silence, content with the shared warmth shared between mother and child. Her mother’s hand drifted across the disordered strands of her streaked white and brunette hair._

_Her other siblings resembled one parent or the other, but not her. She was a perfect mixture of the love that had created her. Mother_ _’s rich brown luminous skin, her father’s bright and glowing strands of hair, her eyes a harmonious blend of their plum and storm gray._

_“What should we do today, my love?” her mother whispered to the edge of her pointed ear._

_“Go see Daddy!” her mother laughed again, squeezing her arms around her bundle of unending energy._

_“Well, Daddy is busy at the blacksmith today and he’ll be home before we know it, but that means it’s just the two of us today!” She announced as Idalya cheered and hugged her mother tighter, kicking her feet behind her in joy._

Idalya opened her eyes, blinking away the traces of her dream. Under the pile of furs, she could still feel the warmth of her mother wrapped around her. It felt like a lifetime since she had seen her mother, but at that moment her lavender eyes grew misty in her gratitude that her mother’s features were still clear within the broken fragments of her mind. Her mother’s smile remained etched in her mind, and the look of grief that had clouded her features later that day when the Denerim guard arrived outside their quaint home to announce that her father was dead after a scuffle between the guard and elves in the Alienage.

She glanced at the small streams of light lurking their way under the door. It was much later in the day than her routine rising time. Idalya had always been an early riser. She had clear memories of her mother telling the family to keep her barred to her tiny corner of the room she shared with her siblings when she was a young child. This trend continued through her time as a Grey Warden, with fast healing and stamina regeneration, she had no reason to stay in bed after stirring and was often awake early enough to watch the sunrise and warm the surrounding ground.

Today had been the exception. After Leliana had left her room in the early hours of the morning, Idalya remained in bed until long after the sun come up and considered hiding under her pile of furs for the rest of the day when she heard the echoing footsteps of boots and the clinking of heavy armor approaching her room.

After a light knock, a broad-shouldered man with a styled mop of blond curly hair, wearing half armor. A fluffy decorative cloak thrown over his shoulders. He pushed the door open and entered her stone prison carrying a lopsided tray filled with food and drink. He set down the tray before taking a seat in the chair at the foot of her bed.

“I am Cullen Rutherford, my Lady,” he began as he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes focused on the floor, “I am the Commander of the Inquisition army and welcome you to Skyhold. Your help and… expertise will be of value to our cause and I… we are glad to have you here.”

Idalya was compelled to order the bumbling man to leave, but there was something comforting about this soldier who’d brought her breakfast, struggling to speak to people he was not giving orders to. He could have sent a messenger, but he saw her himself. It was a sign of respect she understood from one warrior to another.   
She realized he was still talking, and she had not been paying attention. “… we want you to be comfortable. Let us know if you need anything.”

She had no words that would come to her, so she met the Commander’s hazel eyes and nodded before her nose forced her eyes to look to the tray of food whose smells were assaulting her senses.

“I didn’t think to ask Leliana what you preferred as meals, so I apologize if this isn’t to your liking.” The Commander mumbled motioning towards the food.

Something in this man’s awkwardness was helping her feel more like herself than anything else so far. Pushing herself up on the bed, she looked over the tray and reached out, taking a warm biscuit from the tray. He smiled and motioned towards the tea. She nodded between chews of the flaky biscuit as he poured a cup for each of them.

“Four sugars, extra cream,” Idalya mumbled between bites of biscuit which came out, _faw_ _zuger, hextra crem._ Picking up the small bowl of preserves that smelled like fresh berries, the warden smiled. Scooping the fruit with her biscuit, the slightest of moans escaped her lips as the sweet jam melted against her tongue.

The Commander chuckled as he prepared her tea, a warm and hefty sound that shook his chest under his heavy armor, “I had almost forgotten the infamous sweet tooth of the Hero of Ferelden: destroyer of demons and pastries alike.”

Idalya raised an eyebrow and considered making a crude gesture before noticing the plate of strawberries still untouched on the tray. Grabbing them and biting into the soft flesh that dripped down her chin, her annoyance forgotten. Realizing that it was too quiet, she turned to see the Commander watching her.

“It is you, isn’t it?” He whispered. The measure of confidence he had gained disappeared, his hand rubbing along his neck again. “I know this isn’t the time, but I…” his words trailed off as he found something far more interesting on the floor to stare at.

Idalya interrupted, “I don’t know, Commander. I feel like me, but there’s something missing. Every memory before waking up on that table is a haze I can’t seem to find my way out of no matter how hard I try.”

“You remember nothing before being brought back?” the Commander questioned, his eyes searching hers, “Do you remember me, my lady?”

“I’m not sure,” she shrugged, “There’s something familiar about you and you put me at ease, but I’m sorry, I don’t remember what you’re hoping I do. I have clear memories, like of my mother and growing up, but my time in the Wardens in fractured and lost. Commander, please tell me, help me remember.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed to reassure him to continue. His stared at her hand atop his before swallowing, pulling his hand away to resume his frantic neck massage.

“I… I was a Templar in the Ferelden Circle when it fell. I was a prisoner and attacked by a desire demon for days as I listened to my brothers collapsed one after another under the weight of the demons. Running out of ways to break me, the desire demon appeared with the face of the girl of whom my heart had first belonged. I had watched Solona die the day the tower first fell, she protected the unharrowed mages for hours until... She died a hero, and the demons used her face to inflict unspeakable pain and horror…” He paused, his eyes clouded lost in memories of a decade ago.

“After the demon took her face, it was only a matter of time before I broke, begging the Maker for death. As I prepared to give up, I heard screams echoing down the corridor. The doors flew open and you entered. Blood and ichor covered you, and I thought you were another demon come to break me. Instead, you asked me for help. You asked what was happening and if I knew what Uldred was casting in the summoning chamber.”

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face scratching at the edge of an unkept short beard. “I said horrible things to you. I told you to destroy everyone inside even if they were innocent. I was so broken and afraid and yet you never looked at me with judgment; you told me to rest you would save me… and you did. You returned and dropped the barrier and held me as I dropped to my knees. Told me I was safe. I was so angry that you had saved those inside I couldn’t even look you in the eyes and thank you. I pushed you away and said any abominations were on your head- for that I am sorry. I was terrified, never preparing myself for the thought of surviving that I didn’t know how to react to safety. I thought I would never get the chance to apologize and thank you for not listening but still showing compassion.”

Idalya was running over the information in her head. The memory of a circle seemed familiar, as did his story, but she couldn’t picture it.

“But thank you for saving someone who didn’t deserve it. At that moment you showed a greater strength than I knew could exist. I had all but resigned my grave to Kinloch…”

 _Kinloch_. With that one word, she saw it.

_Demons, the smell of blood, bodies lining the halls as screams echo throughout the halls. Being sucked into the Fade and fighting her way out. A broken man on the floor crying in fear. Destroy them all, destroy the mages. Don_ _’t trust them, can’t trust them… Someone argues with her, protect the children. Protect the innocent at all costs. Protect them... protect them…_

Idalya’s hands flew to the sides of her head as the memories exploded into her mind, needles pressed into the corners of her mind. A pained cry slipped from her lips. As the memories and the piercing pain attached to them dissipated, she realized that the Commander had moved to take her within his arms as she had screamed and trembled.

“Do you need me to fetch the healer or Enchanter Fiona for you, my lady?” His eyes were as full of panic as she felt. Ignoring the man’s help, she regained focus, getting her breathing under control.

“No, I remember. Not all of it, but enough. Thank you, Commander. I need to rest, that was _too much_.” Her throat was dry, a cracking desert running the length of her mouth to intestines as the heady smells of the corrupt Circle still pressed into her nose.

The Commander nodded, guilt plain on his features, as he helped her recline back into the bed. Her eyes were steel. A growing weight. Her lids already fluttered shut from exhaustion after the assault on her mind.

“My lady?” Idalya made a sound of acknowledgment. “I was wondering if you wanted the Inquisition to contact your companions to inform them of your condition.” She opened her eyes, sitting in silence, before responding. Cullen noticed that she wrung her hands together as she hesitated to answer his question.

“We don’t know how long it will last, so no, please contact no one. My friends have moved on with their lives in the last ten years. I don’t want them to grieve all over again if its turn the magic was not powerful enough to sustain me for long.”

Cullen frowned as he processed her words. “Understood, my lady, we will keep your time here at Skyhold a secret as you wish. Let us know what we can help with.” He stood, picking up the tray now empty of anything resembling sweet and heading to the door.

“Commander?” He smiled, turning around to face her.

“I think it would be acceptable for you to call me Cullen, my lady.”

Idalya snorted. “And you should call me Idalya, as I am no lady.”

“Yes, I suppose, my la… umm, Idalya.”

She met his smile and couldn’t refrain from laughing at his discomfort regarding her name.

“Fantastic, _Cullen_. Regardless of why I’m here now, I have a job to do and an archdemon to kill which means training. I haven’t picked up a sword in over a decade. I will need to train harder than I ever have if I stand a chance to help the Inquisition. Could you set up appointments with your armor and weapon smiths for me?”

Straightening his shoulders, he was the Commander of forces again, “You’ll have everything you require… umm, Idalya. I’ll inform the healers that the advisers are to know with haste when you may return to training and we have all our best equipment available to you. Until later.” He bowed and exited the room.

Her limbs were exhausted as she curled up on her side under the piles of blankets. Memories of death and killing were trying to push their way to the front of her mind, but she needed rest. As her mind prepared herself to enter the Fade, she thought of the now standing Commander in place of the frightened and broken boy she had found in the tower. If the Commander could heal his internal wounds and move on, then maybe she could too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	5. The Chapter Where Idalya Meets Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idalya is cleared to join Skyhold and meets the world that exists outside of the room she spent weeks hiding in.

Two weeks. Two weeks that moved at the pace of honey dripping before Skyhold’s healers gave approval for Idalya to exit her prison and join the rest of the fortress. As servants arrived with her breakfast, a heaping plate of biscuits and the freshest strawberries, they also brought a large weathered wooden chest with an Inquisition insignia carved in the hood. Inside she found a pair of well-made leather breeches that color of tree bark, a simple white fitted tunic with a lace up neck, a pair of worn leather knee-high boots, and leather cord for her hair. Changing into real clothes went a long distance in helping her feel like herself again. She made a mental note to thank whoever had sent her new clothes.

Standing in front of the full length garish Orlesian styled mirror, she looked at her features as though she expected to find something out of the ordinary. Crow’s feet appeared around her eyes and the skin underneath was puffy and squished at her touch. Her eyes maintained a constant look of exhaustion. She looked much older than she remembered.  As far as she understood, the magic returned her body to the state when she… _well, you know._ The stress lines and cracks in her skin had already been part of her as she prepared to fight the archdemon.

Her mane of silver and white hair was longer than she could recall and swung loose around the curved of her waist mirroring her movements. Leliana had requested servants bring her more vials of the orange scented oil for her hair. She knew Idalya’s daily struggles to keep her hair untangled and straight. Rolling a lock around her finger, she inhaled the sweet smell and smiled. As a child her mother could never afford a luxury like hair oils, putting her moonlight-highlighted hair in tight braids all hours of the day. She swore the chronic headaches she suffered growing up had as much to do with the tight braids on her head as the lack of food in her stomach.

Picking up a stiff bristled hairbrush from the table, she ran it through her locks releasing the warm smell of spices and orange in the air. Closing her eyes, she focused on bristles running through her hair and felt a tingle in the back of her mind as something in her memory broke free. She felt the pull in her mind as she searched to find the memory attached. After two weeks of adjusting to this, she was becoming more familiar with the sensation of remembering and was learning how to lead herself into those moments and try to push past the fog surrounding them.

She could feel her edges blurring as the memory attempted to push its way through. Her limbs trembled as she could see parts of the vision falling into place:

_A campfire. People_ _’s voices traveled around her. Leliana’s Orlesian accent as she purrs at a man nearby who laughs in response, they cuddle together as Idalya looks out across the fire. Fingers drag through her hair, loosening the knots formed next to her scalp. Warm breath traveled across her neck and she shivered, not from the chill in the air, but from desire and the warmth that traveled under her skin, that spread across her body and lodged in her core. A pair of lips hovered next to the curve of her pointed ear._

_“Your hair is the color of the first snow falling from a winter storm.” The voice spoke. She hummed in joy, laying her head back against something solid and safe. She shifted her weight to turn around to locate the origins of the voice. As she turned her head to see, her eyes met by a blinding light pushing her away. It’s so bright. She can’t focus on what’s behind it and the pain is blinding whatever vision she has left…_

Idalya opened her eyes, the rocks of her uneven floor digging through the leather covering her knees. Sighing, she placed her head against the mirror with a _thud_ as she tried to understand what she had seen. The previous visions that had broken through had been similar, trivial details snapping into place than other portions blinding her by something that was hiding them. She wasn’t aware of what she was forgetting, but she knew it was angering her increasingly every day. Leliana had avoided her since her first day in Skyhold, instead, sending servants with trays of her favorite foods or needed essentials. She was taking care of her, but without the courage to face her.

Pulling herself up off the floor, she wiped the layer of dust off her new clothes. Permission to leave her bed could not have a moment later or else Idalya would have fought her way into Skyhold and into some form of life outside her stone prison.

Grabbing a gray cloak hung on a hook by the door, she left the room and cast her eyes on Skyhold. The power Idalya could feel running through the stones made so much more sense once she could see the entire keep and its monstrous size. Skyhold was old, but not just in construction, power radiated off the keep and held more in common with ancient Elven ruins than a military outpost. Walking across the ramparts, she let her fingers drag along the stones feeling the magic reach through her hands.

After over two weeks of being part of the living again, her body had time to adjust to the freezing cold mountain air. Being on the outside was different. As she felt the open breeze against her skin, she made a promise to herself to order a heavy woolen cloak when fitted for her armor. She clutched the cloak around her as she made her way down the stairs in the courtyard where soldiers were running through training drills.

Idalya watched the drills run by duos of one Templar and one mage; soldiers not only parring sword blows but ducking around spells that came flying towards them seconds later. She had to give them credit, the Inquisition knew now to train an army. Her sword hand grew an anxious itch as she watched the soldiers train. From the corner of the courtyard, she saw unused training dummies next to the weapon smith’s workshop.

Entering the candle-lit workspace, Idalya’s cheeks burned while assaulted by the heat of the furnace and her exposed fingers singed with the heat she welcomed. Rows of swords rested on wooden tables. She let her fingers run over the pommels, unsure what she was looking for but would know when she saw it. The Smith stopped hammering the sword he was working on to glare at her.

“You look like no soldier I’ve seen, if you don’t have permission to be here touching my goods then you get need out now.” His scowl was so deep that his eyebrows touched. Heavy footsteps fell behind Idalya.

“She is with the Inquisition,” a quick Nevarran accent answered, “she will have access to everything at your disposal.  I believe the special order Leliana placed with you is for her.” Idalya turned to take in a raven-haired, muscular woman half a head taller than her. She stood tall, shoulders pressed back, an Inquisition symbol painted across her breastplate. “I am Cassandra Pentaghast and it is an honor to meet the Hero of Ferelden... even if you might be an _abomination_.”

It was Idalya’s turn to scowl as she studied the woman in front of her. Her face held no malice, but a streak of honesty that calmed her nerves. She had spent the last two weeks catching up by reading history lessons for the last decade with what history books had been available to her. Lady Pentaghast had been the Right Hand of the Divine, serving with Leliana until the Divine’s death at the Conclave. A distant descendant of the Nevarran throne, Cassandra followed more in the dragon hunting footsteps of her family than the nobility side. Idalya could see as she sized her up that the woman was a formidable warrior even without her reputation preceding her.

“Well, I’d like to inform you I’m not an _abomination_ ,” Dal ground her teeth together as she said the word aloud. “But I believe the honor is mine, Lady Pentaghast.” She said with the slightest of bows.

Cassandra snorted. “Please, do not refer to me as ‘Lady’, I am only a soldier to the Inquisition as you are. You may call me Cassandra.”

“As you say, Cassandra. I’m Idalya, you can leave off the ‘Hero’ business.” Cassandra nodded in acknowledgment, the corner of her lips lifting in a slight smile.

The Smith returned with two cloth bundles under his arm. Laying them down, he opened the first one revealing a curved broadsword of copper hue. Idalya gasped, pressing one hand over her mouth as the fingers of her other hand stroked down the curves of the metal that hummed in response to her touch.

“ _Dar_ _’Misaan_ …,” the words rolled off her tongue, a spell summoned from her lips. For the first time since she had awoken in Skyhold, tears flooded her eyes and rolled down over her ruddy cheeks. “How? I don’t understand.” Her fingers caressed the pommel and found the small crescent-shaped indentions where she would press her nails into the worn leather for extra grip. “ _This is my sword_.” Lifting it up, its weight felt familiar, a joyful laugh rang out in the room as she hugged the sword to her chest. The sound of the smith clearing his throat brought the elf back to reality.

“You'll see the blade has been restored, reinforced with dragon bone. The leather of the pommel cleaned and restored, but saved, per request, by Lady Nightingale.” He opened the other bundle of cloth which contained two swords, both identical to  _Dar_ _’Misaan_  except one had a dulled edge and weighted heavier than her Dalish broadsword. The other built of wood. “These commissions are from Commander Cullen for you. This is a weighted practice sword to build strength and the wooden sword replica are Inquisition issue for all man-to-man training.” For the expression the smith had started their interaction with, his face now held a prideful smile at Idalya’s reaction to his work. Reaching under the table, he pulled out a worn sword belt and sheath.

“This will be large for your frame, but it’ll do for now.” He passed the belt to Idalya who pulled it around her waist and tightened it as small as it would fit on her slim waist and slid  _Dar_ _’Misaan_  into the sheath with a grin on her face.

“Thank you for his… I can’t even express how much this means. Thank you.” The Smith nodded and returned to his work like a small Elven woman crying over his work was a daily occurrence. Cassandra picked up the sword bundle under her arm and followed behind Idalya as she made her way out of the shop and made a straight beeline towards the practice dummies. Handing her the dulled practice sword, Cassandra stepped away to ease her back against the nearby wall, giving the Hero some space.

Idalya held the sword out to her side feeling the muscles in her arm stretch under the unnatural feeling weight. The sword was heavy, but not so that she wouldn’t be able to swing it. Cullen knew what he was doing with his army and how to train them. Bringing the sword back in front of her, she placed both hands on the pommel, lining up her feet to the dummy. With precise movements, she brought the blade to the ribs feeling the dull _thud_ reverberate back up the metal. Inhaled, spun, and struck the opposite side of the ribs. She pulled back the handle to the side of her face and pierced straight into the dummy while she rolled past its side, hopping up behind it and pushed the blade into the dummy, splitting its back with a forceful flick of her wrists. She watched the hay stuffing fall out to the ground, pleased the movement came more natural to her than she expected.

Cassandra huffed from the wall, “And people say I’m hard on the dummies.”

Idalya smiled, a flush of exertion coming over her cheeks. She motioned to Cassandra’s pile of practice swords on the side. “What do you say, Seeker? Want to see the damage a corpse can do?”

A laugh erupted from Cassandra as she considered Idalya’s offer, it was a relaxed sound that suited the uptight woman. “Thank you _for the offer, but no_. Leliana and Cullen are protective over you, fear you are made of glass. I do not wish to see the consequences of leaving a mark on you from sparring. Cullen, I have no fear of, I could take him in combat.” The warrior shrugged, no doubt held in her statement. “Leliana though, I need to sleep and would like to keep my throat uncut.” She raised her eyebrow, a smirk on her lips. “Another time perhaps.” And strode away towards the main hall.

Idalya stuffed the pile of hay back inside the dummy. Lining back up, she squared her shoulders and took another hit as the dummy exploded hay back into the sky. An infectious smile spreading across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	6. The Chapter Where Cullen Loses Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has a difficult time staying focused when the Herald of Andraste is in his vicinity.

“... next on the agenda is securing our invitation to the Winter Palace,” Josephine continued her diatribe as Cullen rolled his eyes behind the Ambassador’s back.

Evelyn held back a smile as her olive eyes met his across the table. She inserted an occasional _‘mmm’_ of acknowledgment into the conversation but continued to watch Cullen as her eyes made their way down the length of his body, her gaze undressing him one piece of, now too tight, armor at a time.

Cullen shifted on his feet trying to adjust the fit of his leather breeches which were tighter the longer the Inquisitor's gaze lingered. He shot a pointed look towards the other advisers to remind his leader why they were in the War Room. Her smirk fell as she shrugged, rejoining the discussion surrounding Grand Duke Gaspard and the Inquisition’s plans to the stop the assassination at the Winter Palace.

That woman was  _insatiable_. Just 15 minutes before the meeting, Cullen pressed her against the stones of the darkened stairwell in Josephine’s office. One callused hand under the waistband of her breeches and small clothes. The other clamped over her mouth as she came apart from just the ministrations of his fingers. A line of messengers traveled past the stairwell to give parchments to Josephine. None of them knowing their own Inquisitor was muffled, crying out into the hand of her Commander as she had begged for more of him, just yards away from their discussions.

As she descended from her elation, her olive eyes rolled back into her head resting against the chilled stones of the stairwell. Her chest pushed up to gain oxygen through her heavy breaths as her heart fluttered within her. Cullen’s hand moved from covering her mouth to holding her cheek. He sighed as his fingers ghosted across her satin skin, caressing his thumb across the smooth line of her jaw.

Beads of sweat formed on her temples, curling her auburn hair around her heart-shaped face. Cullen could understand how people could believe she was the Herald of Andraste from the second they met her. Her beauty was beyond anything he had ever known. Leaning close to her, he removed his other hand from her breeches and brought it to his mouth, sucking every succulent drop of her from his fingers. The soft noise of suction caught her attention and as she opened her eyes to meet his, a low moan escaped past her rose-painted lips.

Her hands darted to the laces of his breeches, but he smacked them aside with a quiet chuckle and smirk. Adjusting his armor, he enjoyed the desperate look in her eyes growing as she clenched her fists at her side. Gaining control of her breath, her glare towards him softened, her bottom lip stuck out as she pouted over not getting what she wanted.

The look she gave Cullen up through her lashes almost undid him there. He'd turned and left as fast as possible without a response. Knowing if a word passed by her plush lips, he’d have her pressed back against the stones, not caring who heard this time.

Cullen needed to clear his mind, but this whole meeting all he could see was the look in her eyes, pupils blown so wide her eyes turned black, hear her muffled moans into the palm of his hand, or the smell of her on his fingers when he rubbed his neck earlier in irritation. All he wanted was for this meeting to be over so he could bend her over the war table, her breeches around her knees, the sounds of her calling his name as he violated her.  _Cullen, Cullen, oh Cullen..._

“Cullen?” Josephine’s patient voice broke through his daydreaming bringing him back into the real world with the most awkward of entrances.

 _Maker_ _’s breath._ Cullen’s eyes looked up at the three women staring at him, waiting for a response. It was moments like this where he realized he might not have been the best fit for his job.

“Yes?” His voice cracked as the response creaked out of his throat.

Josephine raised an eyebrow, studying Cullen’s expression. “Leliana and I have shared our thoughts and wonder how you would like to proceed.”

Cullen tensed under the gaze of the Ambassador. His eyes flicked to the door, and he wondered about his chances of just running away without the women forever haunting him with this embarrassment.

_Don_ _’t fuck this up Rutherford, you can do it._

“I believe the points the advisers made to be suitable,” He started, trying to keep his nerves in check,” so I will defer to their judgment.”

Josephine’s eyebrows creased as Evelyn tried to hide a snort behind a pale hand drawing the ire of the Ambassador. A smirking Leliana opened her mouth to speak, but she was beaten to the punch by Josephine.

“While I appreciate the nod of confidence you have given us, I believe troop movements are your responsibility,  _Commander_.” Josephine huffed out. 

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_. 

She paused and collected her thoughts, face softening before continuing. “Forgive me, Cullen, I understand the weight on your shoulders both from the Inquisition and from your lyrium struggles. We should be more understanding. My frustration was inappropriate. Do you need to adjourn the meeting until later, Commander?”

Cullen felt the deep crimson pooling in his cheeks; his face burning as he could see Evelyn’s body shaking with laughter in the corner of his vision uncaring of the chaos she caused. _He_ _’d make her pay for this later._

Josephine’s gentle expression as she waited for him only increased his level of mortification over her innocent misunderstanding unknowing of what Cullen was guilty of in her office not even an hour prior.

“Thank you. I… I’m okay, I apologize for getting lost in my thoughts. It won’t happen again.” He laid his gloved hand over Josephine’s and hoped she understood that his apology was sincere. Her smile was kind as she squeezed his hand and restarted from her long-itemized piece of parchment.

“Let’s move on, we need to discuss uniforms, noble allies, and transportation for the Winter Palace.” Now it was Evelyn’s turn to roll her eyes as Josephine spoke.

Cullen watched her pull a dagger from her hip and carve the closest edge of the war table to her Ambassador’s dismay. The distraction lasted her ten minutes until Evelyn, interrupted Josephine mid-discussion, to turn to Leliana.

“Tell me, how is Skyhold’s resident corpse managing?”

He watched Leliana’s body posture go from calm to restrained in moments. His own hand gripping the pommel of his sword. The tension in the room was suffocating until Josephine cleared her throat to interject into the conversation.

“Cassandra finds the Hero’s battle skills to be impressive. She sees no reason she will not be ready for full combat soon. She has also recommended approaching Lady Mahariel to step in as a trainer for our warriors due to her unique skill set.”

“She can stab things with a sword?  _Yippee_ ,” Evelyn scoffed, eyes still boring into Leliana, “but how is the _woman_ holding up, not just the warrior? This whole plan hinges on the ability of a walking corpse to understand what the Inquisition needs and to follow through with those plans. If she is unable to carry out our plan, then we need to dispose of her and look for other options.”

Cullen’s grip on his pommel made his fingers go numb as he channeled his growing annoyance with Evelyn’s crass line of questioning. _Dispose of._ Those were her words. She spoke of one of their soldiers no different from clearing away the garbage of the fortress.

“First off, she’s not a corpse, so I would ask you to not refer to her that way.” Leliana made a careful choice of her words as she spoke to the Inquisitor. “Also, all trainers report her mental capabilities are adequate. They agree with the Seeker’s opinion, she’ll be cleared to join the Inquisition soon.”

If looks could throw daggers, then Evelyn would die in a pool of her own blood in the center of the War Room.

Evelyn considered her statements. “What do you think? She was your close friend. Was your magic successful?” The slight uptick of her mouth showed she knew of Leliana’s forced distance since the Hero returned. Leliana was a person who never left loose ends or obvious weaknesses, so Evelyn found immense joy in having found a gap in her armor.

Unwilling to watch his lover and boss get stabbed by their own Spymaster, Cullen blurted out the first coherent thought he had. “She has troubles with her memory still…” Leliana’s eyes widened and focused on Cullen begging him not to proceed as Evelyn whipped around to look at him, her eyes narrowed. It was too late, Evelyn  smelled blood and was moving in for the hunt.

“What do you mean memory problems? Tell me, Cullen.” 

 _Fuck_. Twice now in the same meeting, he existed without words to speak. He rubbed the back of his head as he decided what he would say.

“Her memory is in pieces. Her recollections of fighting the Blight are…patchy? She’s only recollected some of her companions. In the last few days of training, she’s asked about where Wynne and Sten are, which the Iron Bull helped fill in for her. My concern is that she doesn’t remember him…”

Leliana was shaking her head, her eyes pleading with him as she stood behind Evelyn. Cullen had stumbled into another game the women of the Inquisition played that he wanted no part of, but he knew Leliana would never hurt Idalya while Evelyn  just referenced ‘disposing of her’. Looking at the mischievous glint in Evelyn’s eyes, he realized the Hero of Ferelden’s secrets might not be safe with her.

“I find it odd she doesn’t remember the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden who fought during the Blight.” He said with a shrug. Leliana released a silent sigh, mouthing a _thank you_ to Cullen. Their eyes met and hoped his communicated that they needed to discuss this later.

Leliana gave the slightest of nods before jumping back into the conversation to move the conversation along with haste. “Enchanter Fiona has examined her multiple times and says the memory loss could be temporary or long term, but it doesn't hinder her abilities to slay the Archdemon. Her training routine will continue.”

Evelyn’s disappointment was obvious at not finding out a juicier piece of gossip as she rose from the table, but she appeared to accept Cullen and Leliana’s answers for the moment.

“Fine. How do we make her part of the Inquisition? Ceremony? Sword lifting while we yell out barbaric screams?”

“This is one those rare occasions where less is more, Inquisitor,” Josephine responded with a frown, irritated by Evelyn’s description of her own Inquisitor ceremony. “I believe a simple handshake and ‘Welcome to the Inquisition’ greeting will be more than adequate for the situation.”

Evelyn groaned and moved towards the exit of the War Room. “Anything else needed from me before I go greet our newest soldier?” The room was silent. “Commander, accompany me to see the Hero in case she stabs me.” Evelyn threw the doors open, leaving her advisers without a word, making her way down the hall towards the training courtyard while Cullen kept pace a few respectful strides behind her.

Evelyn was a noble at heart and played the Game with mastery. A weapon like Idalya would be dangerous in Evelyn’s arsenal. Even more than her skills in battle, having the title of the Hero of Ferelden on their side could bring Evelyn and the Inquisition immense amounts of power and influence with their allies. Not only did the Inquisition have the Herald of Andraste but also having the risen Warden-Commander herself could give a level of credibility and influence Evelyn had never had before. Evelyn’s pace did not slow as she made her way down the front stairs of the hall into the training yard.

Cullen’s eyes found Idalya’s slim frame, sun-kissed skin, and silver hair with ease. She circled Knight-Captain Rylen in the sparring ring. Her Elven broadsword ran the entire length of her body, but she handled it as though it weighed nothing. Rylen threw his helmet off into the dirt, sweat pouring down his forehead and the lanes of his tattooed face, as he narrowed his eyes at his competitor. Idalya grinned and mouthed something to Rylen, causing his eyebrows to crease as the surrounding soldiers chuckled, letting out a boisterous cheer.

The Templar grumbled and swung for her unprotected side, but the Warden was  expecting the move and countered the strike with ease, sweeping behind Rylen and taping him with force on the ass with her sword as the crowd grew more in a frenzy.

_She_ _’s toying with him. She could have ended this fight on first exchange of swings, but she’s enjoying taking him apart in front of his troops._

Cullen shook his head while smiling to himself as Evelyn parted the crowd in front of her to approach the elf. As the circle opened, she walked straight into the sparring ring and met Idalya eye to eye. One quick raise of the Inquisitor's eyebrow was all it took to dissolve the crowd gathered to watch the fight. Cullen stayed close enough to protect Evelyn but far enough away to keep their conversation their own.

Evelyn’s shoulders tensed, a ripple that spread across her body like her waves of ecstasy earlier. Diplomacy was her skill, but something about Idalya made her uncomfortable. A discomfort her muscles could not hide. Idalya looked curious, but not intimidated by being addressed by the Inquisitor, herself.

Cullen assumed facing down an Archdemon would do that to anyone. Evelyn was years older than Idalya at her death, but you couldn’t tell by their eyes. Idalya’s eyes still carried the weight of the world making her look far older than her two decades of life, while Evelyn’s calculating, and mischievous ones made her look much younger than her twenty-six years.

“Commander?” Cullen approached into their conversation. “I would like to take our new friend to the Winter Palace with us when we leave in a month. That gives you a month to have her prepared to travel and be one of my companions during the ball. I’ll inform Josephine and Leliana of my decision.” 

 _Shit_. Evelyn was more than aware of the influence the Hero of Ferelden would have to their cause.

Nodding at Idalya, she motioned Cullen towards her as she stepped away. “Come to my quarters just after sundown so we can go over troop movements in private,  _Commander_.” The way she said his title had a flush of heat rip through his torso and lower, electricity running straight to his cock.

“I have multiple meetings scheduled with the Templar tonight, Inquisitor.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow at his perceived defiance and as she was about to walk past him, breathed up towards his ear.

“Either you come then, or you don’t come at all, my Commander…” She sauntered away, her hips swaying with every step. His eyes could not lift from her ass as thoughts of throwing her over the war table cascaded back into his thoughts.

Cullen’s haze broke as Idalya cleared her throat behind him to break the Inquisitor’s spell.

“So…” She began.

“Yes, that’s Evelyn. The Herald of Andraste herself. I should apologize she can be very…”

“Bitchy?” Idalya offered. Cullen chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Ah yes, that is one way to describe it. Headstrong, independent… I’m sure Josephine has a whole list compiled for apology letters.”

Idalya laughed as she picked up her sword from the ground wiping the dust off the blade.

“Evelyn is great with nobles and Orlesians, but her treatment to those without titles is brash.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll remember to keep my Elven self in her good graces then.” She watched him with intent as Cullen could feel his cheeks still burning from Evelyn direct orders. “You’ve got it _bad,_ you know?

She joked as she tightened her pauldrons while walking away towards the group of soldiers who’d settled in front of the Herald’s Rest, while her words placed a ball of worry into his gut. “Hey Rylen, you finished wiping your tears, so we can end this?”

Cullen chuckled as he made his way towards his tower. Yes, he was aware how he was drowning in his preoccupation with the Inquisitor. Every time he’d tried to distance himself from her for the integrity of their organization, she’d come back to the Skyhold from her travels and run straight to his office. Throwing inkwells and parchments to the floor as he’d welcome her back home, a slave to her desires.

He knew he needed to make time to talk to Leliana about what occurred in the War Room and couldn’t help recoiling at the fear in Leliana’s eyes, and how Evelyn referred to Idalya like she was nothing more than some tool for them to use and discard. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked into his office to bury himself in work to keep him and his thoughts occupied until sundown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	7. The Chapter Where Leliana and Fiona Give Some Answers

Due to her skills as a rogue, Leliana avoided being confronted by Cullen for the next week. The sheer amount of meticulous planning required from all advisers prior to leaving for the Winter Palace was enough to keep Cullen, and his questioning eyes, far from the answers she didn’t have. The answers she wasn’t prepared to give him. Her scouts were tasked to reroute the Commander’s messengers, so the Spymaster had just left the vicinity when they arrived with a summons to his office.

By day seven of their tactical battle, Cullen grew weary of her games. He gave up trying to contact her. His own stack of work increasing tenfold since the Inquisitor left for the Hinterlands with Dorian, Solas, and Blackwall for visible humanitarian work leading up to their travels to Orlais.

 _The Inquisition is a peacekeeping force_ , Evelyn told them with a scoff as she’d left an extensive list of orders for the Inquisition to complete in her absence,  _we better pretend to act like one before we’re called on it_.

Having the Inquisitor out of Skyhold did much to calm the lurking fear in the back of her mind. For days after the last war table meeting, every set of footsteps or movement in the shadows caused her fingers to travel to the handle of her hidden dagger. To defend herself against what, she was unsure. If Evelyn struck against her, Skyhold could have her surrounded in moments. Evelyn herself moved at inhuman speeds with her flashing silver daggers without her army. She would leave Leliana bleeding and gasping for breath in a darkened corner of the Inquisition fortress with no one ever suspecting their graceful and noble leader.

So far Cullen’s lies seemed to pacify their leader, but Evelyn was skilled in the Game and Cullen, who was a logical man at heart, lacked common sense with her. He failed to realize how dangerous she could be if she understood the bartering chip Idalya would be to the royal court of Ferelden.

Alistair, with Anora’s guiding hand, was successful in rebuilding Ferelden, but Leliana knew for his beloved Warden he would let the entire world burn and fall to ashes. That could happen. There was also the fact the organization dangling Idalya in front of the angry king had stolen her remains from under his nose out of his kingdom.

Alistair was not on speaking terms with the Grey Wardens after he announced that Idalya’s body would not be heading to the Warden tomb in Weisshaupt. If they had a problem with his decision they could take it up with the entire Ferelden army, he screamed at the Warden-Commander of Orlais. She was instead housed in the royal crypt where a beautiful statue of her likeness was carved and placed with her remains next to the plot where he would lay for his eternal slumber after slipping away to the Fade.

When reports filtered in on the Inquisition’s progress in the Hinterlands, Leliana knew it was safe enough to call a war table meeting to answer Cullen’s questions. The next afternoon Leliana followed close behind by Enchanter Fiona, entered the war room to find it occupied with advisers, the Inquisitor’s companions, and Templar and army captains who all arrived early for prime seating. The Spymaster swept through the doors, wearing a sculpted mask of control, as she made her way to the head of the table. Dropping a pile of parchment on the table, she made a simple gesture and Fiona came forward, stepping around Sera who decided the best seat was the middle of the aisle Varric and Iron Bull formed.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Leliana began, “I know this meeting is long overdue, but Fiona and I wanted to be certain on diagnoses from the healers before we briefed everyone.”

“Diagnosis? Is she ill?” Cullen’s voice reached across the room, concern clear in its tone. Leliana did not meet his gaze but instead gestured once again to Fiona who stepped forward to address the tense crowd leaning forward in their seats, expecting answers to the largest question existing in Skyhold.

“Of a sort, Commander,” Fiona responded, her frail-sounding voice somehow projecting across her audience. “Lady Idalya is suffering from a severe form of memory loss. Her memories are fractured and recalling them has very painful side effects as some of you have experienced in your interactions with her.” She folded her hands against her abdomen. “I know you have many questions for the Hero, but right now our healers have suggested against any talk of her experiences. Triggering the wrong memory at the wrong time could have devastating consequences as her mind tries to piece her memories back together. Letting her memories unfold on her own time appears to be the safest way we can help her.”

As Fiona finished, the room remained quiet until erupting in chatter. Leliana rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. The room quieted down again, except for Sera who was drunk and babbling something about  _zombies_  and  _abominations_  over Varric’s shoulder until the dwarf shoved a hand over her moving mouth silencing the archer who glared at him in annoyance.

Leliana stepped forward to the table and squared her shoulders. “Speaking of Idalya’s safety, I’m sure it’s not lost on most of you that her existence puts her in great danger. If Corypheus or the Venatori knew she lived, she would be the target of relentless attacks. Idalya is the only thing standing between Corypheus and his immortality for us in the Inquisition, and it is our job,” she met Cullen’s eyes, “to keep her safe as we would any other member. For the Inquisition to succeed and destroy Corypheus, we must have Idalya with us.”

The Spymaster gazed out the rest of crowd, measuring the gazes from within the room. “I trust you will be careful with the information stated here. Anyone could be a threat to the Hero, even within our walls.”

She paused and watched the expressions of understanding click on their faces one by one. What she was saying was dangerous, but she was relying on the loyalty Idalya gained from these people and prayed it was more than Evelyn demanded from them. “Thank you for your time today, I know we’re all busy with preparations, but I consider you all to be important parts of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

Varric rose from his seat to exit with Iron Bull behind him, a passed-out Sera laid over his massive shoulder. Cullen issued orders to the Templar captains, Rylen and Barris, and his army Lieutenants standing beside him before approaching Leliana and Fiona. The Enchanter gave a brief nod before slipping through the bustle of the moving guards, still uncomfortable around that many Templar after her years serving in a circle. Cullen waited for the room to empty before clearing his throat and turning to Leliana.

“Memory loss? That’s all that’s going on?” Cullen searched her face with narrowed hazel eyes that sought information she refused to give. “Why all the secrecy?”

“Because certain pieces of her past could make her a valuable weapon, Cullen. I know you care for Evelyn, but you need to open your eyes. If she knew about Idalya and Alistair’s relationship, we would already be at war with Ferelden.” She leaned forward, so they were looking eye to eye. “Idalya saved your life once when you didn’t deserve it,  _I was there_. I tried to tell her the merciful thing to do was send you to the Maker and move on. She wouldn't listen. The life of one man was of equal importance to her as all of Thedas. That’s who she is. Remember that detail before you volunteer information that puts bulls-eye on the back of her head from your beloved.” Leliana spat the final words and walked past a stunned Cullen.

She needed out of this office. She was not much of a drinker, but there was a bottle of vintage Ferelden brandy hidden in the bottom of her desk calling her

*****

 The stacks of paperwork and lines of messengers were endless. It seemed the minute any headway was made into finishing stacks, another pile would appear as though the parchments multiplied every time her eyes strayed. Leliana was drowning in row after row of paper, head gasping to stay above the surface, as information on Corypheus and the Red Templar came in from all corners of Thedas.

After signing the last missive in a pile, the rogue dropped her quill in midair watching it strike the ink-stained wooden desk. Reaching above her head, she interlaced her long fingers and arched them, sighing as her knuckles popped one after another.

Her focus was damaged.

Fiona was to have a final status meeting with Idalya before she left with the Inquisitor for the Winter Palace. Leliana argued every point with Evelyn over the safety of bringing Idalya. Evelyn ignored her protests claiming Fiona deemed the Hero fit for combat, and as an asset to the Inquisition she would do her duty. The temptation to play with her new toy was too inviting for Evelyn. Her advisers warned her that once the Venatori knew Idalya lived she would live under constant threat of attack until the decisive battle with Corypheus.

Even knowing Fiona’s dislike for direct confrontation, she expected the mage would approach her after the meeting, but the day grew long, the sun setting over the ridge of mountains lighting the horizon on fire and Fiona had not approached her nor returned to her work.

Collecting the remaining stack of parchment, Leliana tucked them under a weary arm and proceeded down the stone flight of stairs towards the desk where Fiona worked on her research for Skyhold’s growing library of magical volumes. She was unsurprised to find the desk empty, the candle long since burnt down to the wick, hardened lines of wax reaching out across the corner of the desk.

Fiona’s pile of spell books remained in the organized pile she left them in before heading to her assessment of the Warden. As she examined the research table, far off footsteps approached until a messenger acknowledged the Spymaster with a nod. He handed off a significant pile of parchment full of annotated notes in Cullen’s blocky script as she sighed.

“Enchanter Fiona?” She inquired.

“In the garden, Nightingale.” He responded in the flat tones of his Starkhaven accent as she dismissed him.

Leliana added Cullen’s pile of parchment to the previous one still under her arm, the stacks of paper crunching together as she tightened her elbow over them. Light steps took her to the stairway, in the nearby reading nook, Dorian was curled up asleep in his reading chair wearing his garish leather ensemble with more buckles than fabric. A heavy volume on Trevinter magisters laid open against his chest which rose and fell with his deep slumbered breaths.

Heading down to the main hall she relaxed, the overwhelming mobs of nobles that filled the grand hall as visitors vacated when darkness descended over Skyhold. Varric was writing at his desk, an open bottle of wine keeping him company as his narrative unfolded, his brow furrowed while his quill scratched out his next hit. Allowing him privacy she passed, her boots making only the slightest clicks on the worn stone floors. Entering the garden, she found it free of the occupants and the servants that made their way between wings of Skyhold.

A soft green light emanated from the wooden gazebo. Leliana drew closer to find Fiona seated at the edge of the Inquisition’s garden. Sky-blue robes spilled around her on the ground, soft green tendrils of light drifted off her fingers into the soil. As the sprouts of elfroot would break the ground, her index finger would run along the edge of the plant, its leaves taking on an ethereal glow as they stretched higher and higher. When the plant reached full size, Fiona sighed and hung her head, her hand dropping into her lap in exhaustion. Leliana settled onto the carved wooden bench observing her. Fiona made no motion to speak after a pregnant pause.

“How is she? I had expected you to check in at least after the meeting.”

“Idalya? She’s great.  _Amazing_ …,” Fiona scoffed. “Accurate to say, stronger today than the day she died.”

“What is it?” Worry spread through the Spymaster’s gut, a wave of nausea settling in over news of her dearest friend. 

Fiona shook her head, regretful while looking out over the garden. “I am so tired, Nightingale.”

“Of what?” Concern flooded Leliana watching Fiona like this. The two women were not friends. For the Inquisition to succeed, the two would have to carry out their duties.

“Of this, of everything. Have we done the right thing, Nightingale?  _She was just a girl_. A girl with the weight of the entire world placed on her shoulders and she never bowed or broke and now we’re doing it to her again. She is but a child and shows more strength and grace than I’ve ever possessed.”

Leliana chuckled despite herself. “Yes, that would be Idalya. She has that effect on people.” She peered up at the constellations forming in the night sky. “I don’t know if we were right, but I know the two of us are old enough now to know the world isn’t made in black and white decisions. Life is hard and brutal, and wars are fought in the gray areas between. Right and wrong no longer mean the same thing.”

“That is true.” Fiona turned to face her. “Within my life I’ve been a mage who lost the only life they knew, a grey warden conscripted to be something more, an enchanter who was brought back to the circle to remain until death, then the leader of a rebellion who had the chance to free my people only to become enslaved to Trevinter. After living all these things, I find myself now a traitor to the few things I thought I held sacred. I’m ready for this to end.” Her eyes were pointed down, shoulders quivering in the cool mountain breeze as her fingers worried the fabric along the hem of her periwinkle robes.

Leliana stood and moved closer to the frail-looking mage. Placing a hand on her shoulder, she squeezed. “The pieces are in place, Fiona. We must follow through on the path we have set them on. You will find the end you seek soon enough; the Maker will see us through. Excuse me, I have to go to the Chantry.”

Fiona’s nod in response was numb, as Leliana made her way to the small Chantry attached to the garden with its white marble statue of Andraste. As she closed the heavy wooden door behind her, her legs gave, and she stumbled the final few steps, falling to her hands and knees at Andraste’s feet. Gasps escaped out of her lungs, her nails digging into the rough stone floor as tears flowed out of her eyes. The dam broke; she could not hold back the tears as they flowed over her cheeks, dripping to the floor. Shoving a dirty fist to her mouth, a scream ripped its way out of her throat and ended in more gasping breaths as she laid down to place her head against the cool stone of the statue.

Over time, she calmed her breaths, but she remained laying there staring up into Andraste’s eyes in her filthy hooded cloak. The words of Transfigurations worked their way out of her soul, up her throat, and out onto her lips:

 _“Those who bear false witness_  
_And work to deceive others, know this:_  
There is but one Truth.  
All things are known to our Maker  
And He shall judge their lies.  
  
All things in this world are finite.  
What one man gains, another has lost.  
Those who steal from their brothers and sisters  
Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind.  
Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart.”

The blessing candles blinked in the drafty room. Words she had spoken to Fiona came back into her head. She was right: right and wrong no longer meant the same as they had when she was an idealistic girl following Idalya across Ferelden.

The Maker may never forgive Fiona and her for their actions, but there was still time to make it up to her friend. Pushing away Idalya only worked in some fantasy where watching her friend die a second time didn’t hurt the same way it did before. As Leliana knelt and wept next to her body atop Fort Drakon, she would have given everything for just one more moment with her dearest friend.

Leliana received the most extraordinary gift from the Maker: a second chance. She would no longer run from the fear of pain. After everything she had done to bring back her dearest friend, the last thing she would do is leave her alone in the darkness when she could once again fight by her side for the fate of Thedas.


	8. The Chapter Where Barris Trains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idalya needs to prepare to fight the Red Templars, but can Knight-Captain Barris stay objective when it concerns her?

Arriving early for the scheduled training session arranged with the Hero, Knight-Captain Delrin Barris expected both combatants there and preparing in their respective corners.

When approached for training by the Hero, Barris contemplated her proposal before locating Captain Rylen, who was (no surprise) at the Herald’s Rest. It wasn’t uncommon to partake the elf and the Templar sparring for a rowdy crowd of soldiers after consuming a few ales. He hoped Rylen would be more comfortable stepping into the training ring than himself.

Rylen looked up at him with a frown while tipping back his tankard. With the last of ale swallowed down, Rylen slammed down his cup onto the wooden table and shook his head at Barris.

“Sorry friend, can’t help you with this one. First off, I like the girl too much to beat the shit out of her. Second, I think my men are laughing at me because she shows me up too much in there as it is.” He ran his worn hands over his jaw tattoos. “Why don’t you climb in there with her? Maker knows how long it’s been since you been close to a woman that beautiful. Though knowing how serious you are about your work, I’m guessing there’s a chance you’ve never been close to a woman of half her worth.”

Barris’ shifted in his plate armor, uncomfortable with the current topic. “It’s complicated,” he grumbled, avoiding Rylen’s stare.

Rising from his bench, he clasped Barris by the shoulder, squaring his to his friend as he addressed him with a grin. “It always is. If there’s hope for Cullen, there’s hope for you, Brother.” Rylen chuckled as he walked away. “Just talk to her, I’ve seen the looks she throws you across the courtyard. You might be as serious as a heart attack, but you’re real easy on the eyes.” He called out to him.

Barris huffed and peered around, to see who was witness to his embarrassment. Not wanting to stay in the overbearing tavern, he left for the Templar wing where a younger recruit, Lysette, volunteered eagerly to show her skills.

With everything arranged for training the next day, Barris laid awake in his bunk trying to keep his mind clear. He rolled back and forth, listening to the sounds of sleeping Templar, but his mind kept venturing back to Lake Calenhad a decade ago.

Barris was the second born son of a Ferelden noble family and in being the “spare” son, he followed his own path, unlike his brother who spent his days being groomed to be the heir. On warm summer days, he would walk down to the edge of the Lake and stare across at the mighty circle tower rising out of its center. As a child, he played out fantasies in his mind of fighting demons with his sword and shield. As he gained years, he took on more roles within the family estate. Barris was a natural with animals and would spend hours working in the family stable with his father’s prize mabari. Though he found plenty of find time to sneak away and daydream.

On one such day, he spotted her.

He had ventured closer to the ferry docks than typical for his routine, watching the crowds drifting in and out of the Spoiled Princess tavern. He was fourteen then. All legs his frame hadn’t grown into yet.

From the imperial highway, he heard a group of voices traveling towards him. Barris found them to be a confusing group. They contained a mabari, a massive Qunari, a chantry sister, a petite warrior, a broad-shouldered warrior, and a thin woman with jet black hair and yellow hawk-like eyes missing most of her clothing.

The dark-haired woman was arguing with the excited mabari who was barking and jumping around her as the large warrior laughed at the scene.

“I’ve told you, I have nothing for you to eat dog. Go away!” The mabari flattened its ears and whined as the woman stormed past him ahead of the rest of the company.

The large warrior knelt, scratching him on the head until his tail wagged again. “Don’t listen to her Barkspawn, she’s just jealous of how handsome you are. Yes, she is, yes, she is! I bet she’s so jealous, she’ll have treats for you. Go! Go get her!” The mabari resumed its jumping and barking its approval and ran after the raven-haired woman reaching the docks. The warrior stood frozen in his spot until an angry cry echoed up from the docks along with a bright flash of light. He pumped a victorious fist in the air before he ran off towards the altercation.

As the rest of the group headed past Barris observing them, the smaller warrior slowed down, removing their helmet. Her removal unveiled the most beautiful creature Barris had ever seen in his fourteen years of life. Long silver hair poured over her shoulders as she pulled the leather tie from her sweaty hair. Her skin was a dark shade of tan complimenting her violet eyes.

The world slowed down and narrowed so all he observed was her. She turned to the auburn-haired chantry sister standing next to her.

“They’re children. They’re behaving like _children_ , Leliana. I’d punish them by forcing them to work together if it wouldn’t turn out to be more of a punishment for the rest of us.” For such a young face, her voice belied a strength and confidence beyond her years.

The sister laughed, a high pitch harmony like the ringing of a bell, “You should threaten to put him in charge that would calm him down if he thought he’d have to decide where we’re going next.” The friends grinned at each other.

“If he doesn’t watch it, I’ll put him in charge of the whole country then we’ll see how funny he thinks he is.” The elf joked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Shaking her head, the sister motioned forward. “Come, Dal, let’s go. Begging a circle for help wasn't on my wish list. Let’s get this over with.” The women locked arms and followed their group. “You know, I have to say for as obnoxious as he can be to your traveling companions, Alistair is pretty to look at, don’t you think?”

The women kept walking until they were out of Barris’ sight. He spent most of the day waiting near the docks for the woman and her traveling companions to return. As the day grew long, he made his way back to the estate for dinner with his family. That night she featured in all his dreams. Now as he battled imaginary demons, her face blushed with gratitude as she thanked him for saving her.

The messenger arrived early the next morning to inform the Barrises that the Circle had fallen to abominations. The Rite of Annulment was requested, but not needed.

Barris didn’t understand what the last part meant, but all he thought of was the silver-haired girl, only a few years older than him, stuck in the tower while abominations attacked.

He ran down to the docks, waiting all day until the ferry returned. His stomach sunk to the floor as he waited for the boat to come close enough for its occupants to be visible. As the sun shifted overhead, the glint of white off her silver hair reflected and he exhaled, his breath jagged and stressed. She lived.

The ferry came upon the shore. Their excitement gone, the group withdrew out of the boat without a word. The elf and the warrior, now helmless with a ragged mop of rusted hair, were the last ones remaining. Standing up, he reached down to wrap his arm under hers and he helped her stand with concern in his eyes. Her face grimaced from a pain deep in her side as he assisted her onto the docks.

None of her companions spoke a word as they made their way back to the highway. Barris stood with the crowds forming outside the tavern to observe the unusual group who prevented the tower from falling. As she drifted by, the elf’s eyes locked with his and he gasped finding her eyes weren’t just lavender, but a swirl of gray and purple. The underside of her right eye was bruising, streaks of blood dried on her face, armor, and clumped through the strands of her hair.

After that day, Barris traced the warden through her journeys during the Blight. He sat silently through the celebrations in town for the slain Archdemon that while Ferelden might now be free, it lost something precious. The next morning, he informed his father he would join the Templar. One month later he left his family behind to gain another.

Now a decade had passed. He saw his brothers and sisters lost and corrupted by red lyrium. At his weakest moment, the Maker granted him a gift: _she had returned._ A ghost sent to remind him of why he wanted to protect those weaker than him. He kept the secret of her identity when she was introduced to the Inquisition until the Commander pulled him into his office to explain who she was and why it was important to let her train with the best they offered.

If the Commander was surprised Delrin met the Hero during the Blight, he didn’t show it. Barris knew Kinloch was a very difficult time for Cullen multiplied by his withdrawal symptoms so Barris did the kindest thing he could think of--he pretended he didn't recollect Cullen served at Kinloch and the two served next to each other with no problems.

He was nervous to train with the Hero, but it was hard to discredit her dedication. She trained warriors and rogues alike with her mesmerizing speed and was open to any feedback the Inquisition trainers had for her. She pushed herself harder than any soldier on the field and the others respected and followed her example every day. So Barris hadn’t expected just the Hero early and preparing to spar, but also Lysettte.

The two women stood facing each other as they observed the other across the ring. The Templar lifted her sword above her head, stretching out the length of her neck and back. With a graceful sweep, her mahogany strands of hair flowing in the breeze, she brought the sword down blade first in the dirt, dropping to one knee, kneeling behind the flaming blade of the Chantry emblazoned on the blade. Her lips moved with fervor: “ _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written_.”

The Hero creased her eyebrows watching Lysette then looked to Barris and shrugged toward the praying Templar, “Uh yeah… what she said.”

He couldn’t help the grin that appeared for her. She smiled back holding his gaze for too long and as she turned away to move to the center of the ring, he noticed the tips of her ears shaded the brightest flush of pink. A heat rushed through his limbs as he stared at the visual mark of her response to him.

Remembering his place and why they were here, he walked towards the ring to speak to them.

“We’ll start with basic sparring with Lysette following regulation Templar movements. Warm up. Feel out your partner.” He found Rylen’s voice in his head about to say something vile before he squelched the sound. “When you're comfortable, Lysette will use pure force on you and you will fight to stay alive. It will be ugly, but this is the reality of what you’ll face when you leave these walls.” Both women nodded while taking their stance in the center of the ring. Barris tapped his sword, _bang,_ against the wooden fence and the fight began.

Two training swords clanged together as the Templar and warrior swung towards each other, the sound echoing through the training grounds. Barris circled outside the sparring ring as he observed the technique of the two combatants. Calling out a footwork critique for Lysette, he was pleased with the competency of both women.

The Elven warrior Dal, as she asked the other soldiers to call her, was an impressive swordswoman. Her movements were quick as she maneuvered around her opponent. Far stronger than her smaller rounded frame gave away. Lysette, one of the strongest Templar in Skyhold, even as a recruit, found herself outmatched in direct combat by the sarcastic and wise-cracking elf who had an unnerving ability to destroy her opponents with ease.

When he asked her why she came to him for help instead of another Templar, she stated Barris was there and watched the Red Templar lose themselves to corruption. The Inquisition viewed them as nothing but monsters, but Barris still remembered when they were men and watched their descent into madness. He knew how the men fought then observed the influence of red lyrium and how it changed them. Dal was committed to remembering these men were used by those they trusted the most, a position, unlike the Inquisitor who told her army she would cut down every single red Templar abomination until the rivers of Ferelden and Orlais ran crimson with their blood.

Trying to keep his gaze objective as the women sparred, his eyes kept wandering to Dal. Her long silver hair tied into a high ponytail which stressed her long face and the points of her elongated ears.  Barris watched beads of sweat form across her forehead and run down the curve of her cheeks, across the slope of her neck, and under the collar of her cream-colored sleeveless tunic. Her fitted shirt and tight leather breeches as she crouched in a defensive position, left nothing to the fidgeting Templar’s imagination. The collar of his own armor tightened as the minutes passed and though the day was setting in the icy mountains, his skin bathed in fire as he watched the elf move.

Lysette attempted to charge Dal, but she dodged the attack, coming up behind the off-balance Templar with a lopsided smirk on her face. As Lysette struggled to maintain her balance in her heavy armor on one side of the ring, Dal turned and met Barris’ emeralds for eyes with her gray-purple ones. A shock ran through his body making him warmer as she looked through him and her smile faltered as she turned back to the Templar who had righted herself. Grunting with a scowl on her face, Barris saw Lysette was losing her composure against the elf. Tapping his sword against the edge of the ring, he changed up their strategy.

“Good work. Next round: Lysette, I want you to come in close. Disarm Dal. Dal, try to take Lysette off balance and remove yourself from close combat. You’re fast, but you need to know how to defend against pure strength. When battling anything infected with red lyrium, you must be careful to mind their armor. Shards of the lyrium piercing through the metal slicing into unprotected skin can infect you. This aspect makes battle for warriors and close-quarter rogues dangerous.” He tapped his sword again against the wooden planks to resume combat.

Lysette was quick to take a step to Dal’s right, bashing her pommel into the Warden’s hands. Using her elbows, she freed the sword held loose in her competitor’s injured hands. The sword clanged as it landed in the dirt, and in one step Lysette kicked it away while her free hand clasped Dal by the throat.

Dal’s long, thin fingers tried to find purchase in metal edges of Lysette’s armor, but Lysette squeezed harder, lifting the elf off the ground. Dal’s eyes widened, but she continued to struggle. Giving up on grabbing the Templar’s armor, Dal wrapped her arms around Lysette’s strangling arm. Rearing back as far as the angle would allow, she pushed her momentum forward, kicking forward into Lysette’s midsection with her remaining strength.

Lysette gave out a choked cry and dropped Dal as her hands flew to her abdomen. Dal landed on her back in the dirt, her limbs twisted at strange angles. She held her hand over her throat in a protective action. Coughing, she rolled onto her knees to get to her feet. Lysette’s arm shot out and grabbed her foot, pulling her off balance as she crashed face first into the dirt.

An armored boot struck Dal in the ribs as she crawled away. Dirt entering her mouth from the sharp intake of breath as she gasped in pain. The Templar grabbed her by the wrist and threw her onto her back. With split-second timing, Dal spit the mouthful of dirt into Lysette’s eyes and the Templar roared hobbling backward, her fingers desperate to scrape the debris from her eyes.

Dal moved to her stomach to distance herself from her opponent. The two women were determined to follow through though both would spend the rest of the night in the healer’s tent. Lysette cleaned the dirt out of her eyes, picking her dusty sword up and stalked the crawling elf to the edge of the training ring. The metal of her armor clinked with every heavy step as she neared the warrior, she showed caution.

A heavy boot came down on Dal’s ankle. The Warden muffled her scream of pain into her arm, but Lysette’s boot met her ribs again in the same spot and Barris knew she was in trouble. His stomach clenched as he watched her become desperate to get away.

Rolling her onto her back, Lysette stood over Dal’s chest and dropped to her knees, trapping the tiny elf beneath her as she straddled her chest. The Templar brought a heavy glove towards Dal’s head, but she moved it out of the way just in time. Lysette grimaced in pain as her fist collided with the ground, armor crunching with the impact. Barris watched Lysette in her frustration to end the match, reach back and grab her sword, pommel pointed down she reached both hands in the air. He held his breath as he waited if Dal would dodge the serious blow. As Lysette’s hands brought down the sword, Barris felt the crackle of magic in the air.

In the blink of an eye, a bright light flashed in the ring with Lysette thrown halfway across it, landing with a heavy a _thud_. Before Barris moved, Lysette’s training took over, the ring bursting into bright light as the smite hit Dal straight in the chest. Her scream was tight and over in a second as her body heaped over in the ring.


	9. The Chapter Where Barris Saves the Helpless Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idalya is injured in training, but the Templar are reluctant to let Barris help her.

Barris jumped the wooden barrier, reaching Dal in three paces. Fresh streams of blood flowed from her nose, mouth, and ears while purple bruises of gloved imprints formed around her neck. With two fingers pressed against her neck, he sighed in relief sensing a weak pulse beneath. Hearing a sword unsheathed behind him, Barris turned to find a bloodied Lysette standing, sword outstretched, with two other Templar also directing their swords toward him and Dal.

“Stand down! What are you doing?” Barris commanded, but they remained unmoved.

“Knight-Captain, she’s an apostate, ser. An unharrowed mage, she not allowed to roam through Skyhold!” Lysette grimaced out. She pointed to the side of her blackened armor, small tendrils of smoke curling off the scorched metal. “She struck me with lightning, ser. You witnessed it. She attacked a Templar, she must await the Inquisitor's judgment.”

Barris stood up to his full height, unsheathing his sword as he pointed it at the three Templar. “You will not touch her, and she is going nowhere other than to a healer. STAND DOWN. THAT IS AN ORDER!” His voice echoed off the courtyard as people turned to discover the source of the commotion happening in the training yard. The two Orlesian Templar beside Lysette stepped forward with their swords still outstretched.

Barris' voice was low and threatening, “No one will put their hands on her. Her name is Idalya Mahariel, the Hero of Ferelden, vanquisher of the Archdemon, savior of the Blight," The faces on all three Templar fell as they stared at the still limp body of the elf that bled out in the surrounding dirt. “I order you to stand down.”

Something moved behind the Templar, but he didn’t focus on it. In a concise movement, the three Templar were struck in the back of their heads and they collapsed to the ground, their bodies limp. Barris’ eyes met Blackwall’s as the Warden moved forward to check on Idalya.

“Better get the girl to a healer. I’ll take care of your buddies here until they come to. I’m certain their Commander will have choice words for them after all this. Go quick! Make sure the warden is fine.” Blackwall urged.

Barris scooped Idalya off the ground into his arms and moved as quick as his legs allowed towards the main hall of Skyhold. For such an intimidating woman, Barris found himself confused at how small she was in his arms. She'd curled up like a child as he cleared the steps and aimed for the doorway to the rotunda. Exiting into the hallway, he came into Solas’ work area. The mage painting on his massive murals.

Turning at the commotion, he saw Idalya in Barris’ arms and jumped down from his scaffolding mumbling the word _no,_ repeatedly. The mage swiped his pile of books off the desk and motioned for Barris to place her down on the table, to analyze the extent of her injuries.

“What happened? How could this happen…” Solas’ hands glowed a vibrant green as he pressed them against her abdomen and chest sensing her injuries.

“She was smited, ser.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared down the Templar. “Smited? She’s not a mage.” Solas projected his discomfort as he examined her body.

Sure that they were alone, Barris leaned forward forwards Solas and spoke under his breath, “She was sparring with a Templar as practice for Red Templar… she attacked the Templar with lightning and the Templar smited her in defense.” 

Solas’ face was a war of emotions as he processed the Templar’s words. With a sigh, he placed his hands on Idalya’s chest and Barris sensed the rising of his magic as the green swirls penetrated through her tunic into her body. Her breaths became shallower, quickening as her body arched to his magic. A whimper escaped her perfect pink lips and Barris stepped forward in concern but halted as Solas shot him a sideways glare from where he worked.

Her body slid back down to the desk as the mage’s magic wore down. In a more relaxed position than before, she looked asleep other than the streams of dried blood streaking her face, the marks on her neck already lessening from Solas’ outpouring of healing.

Stepping away from the desk Solas stumbled, before receiving help to a chair to recover. Barris’ eyes drifted back to the sleeping elf on the desk. Now that she was safe it was indecent to be standing over her. If he found her beautiful awake, it was nothing compared to her beauty as she relaxed, the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders.

He chided himself for thinking thoughts like that about the Hero. Barris swore to protect the weakest of those who needed help and this girl was the epitome of those who needed his protection. As beautiful and vibrant as Dal might be, she needed his help. She needed everyone's help if she was to succeed.

A fast-moving pair of footsteps caught his attention, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword as the door from the main hall busted open into the rotunda and Leliana came running through it to Idalya’s side. She dropped to one knee and placed her forehead against the Hero’s.

Barris stood straighter and stepped back from the desk unsure how to handle the spilling emotion from the Spymaster. Squaring his shoulders, he directed his line of sight towards the enormous paintings now covering the walls of the rotunda and tried to block out the soft whispers the Spymaster spoke into the Hero’s ear as she smoothed her silver hair. The minutes lasted for hours until Leliana stood and was once more the Nightingale.

“Solas, please… dear Maker, please tell me…”

“She will be fine,” Solas interrupted from his chair, “I don’t know what happened, but I know you and Fiona are dabbling in magic you don't understand!” His voice escalated in volume as he stared her down.

Leliana’s eyes darted to Barris standing away from the commotion.

“What is he doing here?” She asked, suspicious of his role. “Did he do this?” Her hand motioned towards Idalya.

The elf rolled his eyes. “No, he’s the one that saved her, and I assume he’s here because he’s worried she’ll attack someone else, Spymaster.”

Leliana huffed out a breath of air as she removed a handkerchief from her pocket and cleared the blood from her friend’s face.

“That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t harm any-"

“She summoned lightning on a Templar!” Solas’ fist pounded the arm of the chair as he stood to face the Spymaster. “A warrior with no discernible mana summoned lightening then was injured to the point of death by a smite. Whatever you have done has bent the rules of magic to their breaking point. If you keep me in the dark, I can’t help you and I can’t help her! I drained all of my mana to heal the internal damage she sustained… damage she shouldn’t be able to!”

As the two argued, the crackle of Solas’ magic filled the room as his anger grew towards the Spymaster. His purpose for bringing Dal here wasn’t to suppress the magic of the elf, but if he needed to protect one of the Inquisition’s advisers, he would do it with no hesitation. Taking a step forward, he reached out his non-sword arm towards the mage, pulling the lyrium in his system to the front. At the first pull of lyrium, Solas turned towards him and hung his head down, releasing a groan. The magic in the room dissipated as the mage ran his hands over his face and swore in Elven as Barris lowered his arm.

“First the Hero is smited outside, then I’m almost silenced in my home. The more things change, the more they stay the same.” He turned to Leliana. “You can both leave now, Spymaster, I need you to send couriers to bring a healer’s cot to the room, so I can make her more comfortable. She’ll have plenty more hours to rest and I need to continue my work. I'll have a messenger fetch you when she has awoken.”

Leliana shook her head and stormed out up the stairway heading to her ravens. Leaving the mage and Templar alone with the Hero.

“And I need you to head to Commander Cullen and inform him about what has happened. I sense there will be damage control he must complete with your Templar before the night is through.”

Barris bowed and made his way to the exit to the Commander’s tower when the elf spoke once more.

“Oh, and Ser Barris?” Barris turned to face him. The mage held his hands linked behind his back as he made his way toward the Templar with deliberate footsteps. When he was face to face with Barris, he stopped to analyze him.

“Thank you for protecting the Hero. Without your quick response, she would have perished in the custody of the Templar when they apprehended her.” Barris nodded in acknowledgment as Solas continued, “Evelyn might have chosen to work with the Templar and bring you into the Inquisition as equals, but if you ever threaten me again in my home, not even your Maker can protect you when I get my hands on you.”

Barris’ entire body tightened at the mage’s words. _This was no idle threat._

“Understood.” His voice rasped out as he refused to drop his eyes from the mage’s.

“Would you leave that part out of your discussion with the Commander? He’s jumpier around mages than you are, and I’d hate for him to single out mages as being dangerous because I take the Templar doing their jobs personally.” Solas regarded him for a moment with an eyebrow uplifted. “You keep my secret,” he motioned towards Idalya’s sleeping form, “and I’ll keep yours.”

Barris rolled his eyes and continued out to the Commanders tower with heavy footsteps as he heard Solas’ quiet chuckles echo through the silent rotunda as the wooden door closed behind him.


	10. The Chapter Where Solas Finds the Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas follows into the Fade to check on Idalya, but what he finds will change his life forever.

Hours ticked by after the Knight-Captain left the dim candlelit rotunda, but Solas remained motionless at his desk. His long fingers interlaced under his chin as his eyes glanced over the piles of texts on his desk now the least of his current concerns.

Idalya's limp form dozed on the cot Leliana’s messengers delivered minutes after the Spymaster stormed from the room. Solas lifted the incapacitated woman and brought her onto the cot afterward, careful to not hurt her lingering injuries. Her sepia skin drained of its glow now held a sickening pallor. Deep bruises under her eyes and running the length of her neck. Streaks of dried blood remained on her tunic and through strands of her long silver hair. Traces of violence and grime speckling the surface.

Daylight grew dim through the gap of the heavy wooden doors. The hours of the day ending as the night took over its reign. The stirrings of visitors and servants throughout the tower quieted as people left the dining hall for the Herald’s Rest to close out their day.

Looking up into the balconies, a silhouette stood at the edge of the railing unmoving as they watched him at work. Solas resorted his haphazard piles of paperwork and texts, pretending not to notice Dorian above. The wafting judgment from the Trevinter mage drifted towards him though he had no interest in being on the receiving end of the mage’s venom-filled glare.

Solas’ eyes never moved from his desk and a slight grin appeared on his features when Dorian’s footsteps echoed across the stone floors as he exited the rotunda, joining Evelyn in their ritual overindulgence of wine.

No other sounds lingered in the tower as Solas turned to the sleeping elf. She tossed and turned in her cot, soft whimpers escaping her lips.

Rising to his feet, he walked to her cot, checking for any signs of infection. He sighed in relief to find her clammy, but without fever. She would heal, but the consequences of the day remained unseen. His bare feet moved without sound against the stones as he paced back to his chair. Standing over the desk, he shook his head, arms crossed over his chest as he headed to his sleeping alcove and stepped inside.

Laying down on the minimalist bedding, he pulled a thin woven blanket over his legs as he settled in. Willing his body to relax, he closed his eyes, preparing to enter the Fade. The muscles in his body twitched as sleep overcame them. He focused on Idalya’s face and features, the feel of her spirit, as he drew himself into the part of the Fade she occupied.

The familiar heavy weight of the Fade melted over him as he slipped deeper into the dream world. As Skyhold’s ancient stones over the eons became clearer, Solas moved towards something in the Fade much further away. Images and long-lost dreams blurring around him as he flew around countless memories laid into the surrounding land until it stopped.

His balance was impaired, his vision muddy as he opened his eyes. They adjusted to an image of a camp ahead bathed in night. Abstract parts of the memory were missing. Similar to how dreams resembled when the Fade projected to those who traveled its paths, but much stranger spots in the camp were missing than Solas had experienced.

Objects ripped from the fabric of the Fade itself or covered in light so blinding, he turned his eyes away. Careful not the interact with these missing pieces of time, he walked further into the camp on delicate footing. Unlike his other travels while Fade walking, this memory remained frozen in time.

A large bonfire seated at the center of the camp was the focal point, its flames unmoving, the world paused.

A young Leliana, in thin armor and bow at her side, laid next to the fire. Her head in the lap of a towheaded elf running his hands through her hair, an expression of adoration covering his face as he looked into her eyes. Moving closer he saw how the last decade had worn down the Inquisition’s Spymaster, her eyes so bright and holding no circles underneath.

Without knowing Leliana, you would miss how weighed down from the daily decisions in her job she was. To see her happy and at her most relaxed? Solas turned away uncomfortable with his intrusive spying through memories. Seeing someone who no longer existed. It bothered Solas to see her cold and calculating eyes turned warm and thoughtful, knowing the girl with the kind face had many hard years to face in front of her.

On a further side of a camp, a large Qunari, the current Arishok, sat unmoving in the center cleaning a large broadsword in his lap. Nearby, an older woman with white hair in a tight bun, soft blue mage robes spread around her on the ground, held a massive tome open in hers.

Solas remembered Wynne. He'd observed her in a memory of Cole’s he'd walked through with the spirit. She was a mother figure to the group, looking out for their wellbeing. Using her experience of overcoming adversity in the Circles to help these children survive fighting a Blight alone.

Solas stepped over a Fade hole in the ground as he crossed the camp, finding what he had been searching for.

Idalya rested on the ground, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. In front of her, a version of herself leaned back in a bundled cloud of light. The light stung at Solas’ eyes, but Idalya remained steadfast as she stared at herself in this memory locked in time.

Solas contemplated leaving.

 _All of this was wrong_.

The holes in the Fade, Idalya separate from a memory watching it as an outsider. Only the most powerful of mages contained this level of power to manipulate the Fade, yet here she was. This moment was too intense; he should not have come here. Preparing to leave, she spoke to him.

“You followed me here.” Her voice was deep, rougher than normal, her throat aching from crying and the damage she taken from strangling in the training ring hours earlier.

There was no accusation in her voice. just more one thing to surprise him in dealings with the Warden. Over his life, he met many that would live forever through mythology and legends. All of them mere fractions of the people in those stories, but Idalya was the exception. Her legend and the surrounding stories didn’t do her justice.

Leading was in her blood, her presence demanding respect. Within days of joining Skyhold, she was respected more by the soldiers than their own Inquisitor. Every morning she was the first warrior out training and every evening the last one on the field. Cleaning up and preparing for the next day to the horror of the servants who begged her to stop lest the Commander think they were shirking their duties.

Solas contemplated if Idalya existed in the time of ancient elves, their fate might not have been doomed. Idalya could have prevented the Exalted March and saved the elves from themselves and those who sought to bring fear and ignorance into the hearts of humans concerning them. It was ironic she had little care for the elves and saw herself as only a person existing in Thedas rather than someone representing elves as a race.

Stepping around pieces of the Fade falling apart, Solas walked to her side. “I followed you here, but I find myself speechless at what I've found.”

Idalya stayed stationery staring at the image of herself.

Lowering himself to the ground, he sat cross-legged next to her as he observed the scene. Within this memory Idalya grinned, tiny lines formed around her eyes, her cheeks glowing with a rosy tint, white strands of her hair frozen in the air flowing in the breeze.

The shape of light behind her mesmerized Solas. He knew of nothing like it in the Fade before. When people experienced memory loss, their visions still existed in the Fade, they were just unable to access them.

This was something else.

Idalya’s memories existed broken and disjointed, her mind disassembled like a quilt, patch by patch. Tears ran down the lengths of her tanned cheeks, pooling onto her arms as she peered over them to watch herself.

“You see it don’t you?”

He looked back to the frozen image in front of him and regarded it, his brows creased.

“I was happy, Solas. What if I can never find what I lost?” Her voice wavered as her fingers clutched into her skin. “Something is missing. I’m… missing?” With that last word, great sobs shook her core as she placed her head down on her arms, letting the tears fall.

Part of him wanted to reach over and comfort her, but he understood when the grief experienced by a person was greater than the comfort one person could give them. He waited out her cries until her breathing returned to a steady rise and fall of her chest.

“Is this what your memories are like?” He asked, and she shook her head in response, her eyes still glazed with her tears.

“No, I see memories through my eyes. Not like this.” Her hands wrung together. “I wasn’t expecting this. This _hurt_. I’ve lost something and now I've confirmed it. It's no longer a lingering question I'm too afraid to ask.”

Watching the armor of the honorable warrior crumble away, leaving behind the trembling girl was too much for Solas to watch. How often had he sat amongst memories of times gone past yearning to be part of something so much larger than himself? He recognized her pain, acknowledged it, and internalized it so much more than he could ever tell her.

“The only people who can access the Fade in this fashion are demons, spirits, and mages.” He watched her face for any change in expression. She winced as he said demon but seemed unsurprised when he mentioned mage.

Idalya hesitated. “Is she… all right?”

Solas nodded. “The Templar?” She was concerned for a Templar who would have slain her without a second thought hours ago. “She’ll be fine. You remember, don’t you?” Idalya nodded as her body shook. “I assume she’s confused and even more so after she woke up from being incapacitated by Blackwall.”

She frowned as she absorbed his words.

“Don’t think poorly of him, you owe Blackwall and the Templar Captain your life. The Templars wanted to throw you into a Skyhold cell until the Inquisitor sentenced you as a hidden apostate. They would have let you die in that cell… well, again.” He gave her a brief smile as she snorted at his inappropriate humor.

She turned back to face the frozen grin in front of her. “Have you seen anything like this before?” Idalya motioned towards the blinding light. “Does this happen when people forget memories? How does that happen? It feels so familiar, yet it’s nothing. There’s nothing there.”

“No, I’ve never seen anything like this before," he lied.

This girl was already broken and the last thing he'd let her hear was parts of her memories had been ripped from Fade. This wasn’t an alteration of her memories, but an attempt to rip them out of space and time itself.

“Am I… am I a mage?” She looked down towards the ground, her shaking boots digging paths into the dirt.  

“No, you are not,” Solas answered with confidence. He waited until she turned to gaze at him, with red crying rings around her purple and gray swirled eyes. “You have no discernible mana. The Templar had the advantage, you sensed great danger, and something protected you. In a situation like that, many circle mages would become abominations, but you defended yourself. I do not understand how. That and how you were smited.”  _That caught her attention_.

“Smited? How in Thedas was I smited?” Her eyes stared at him in disbelief as he considered how to answer her question.

“If you haven’t figured out by now, I’m not here just rifling around in your memories… or what’s left of them. You were injured when hit by a smite. Warriors should not be hurt by such an attack, the same way a warrior shouldn’t shoot lightning from their hands. It seems we have many mysteries today.”

She motioned towards the bundle of light again, “What do you think would happen if I touched this dream? Or whatever this is.” Solas considered her question as his own curiosity took over.

“I don’t know, but I am intrigued to test it out.”

She nodded and rose to her feet and approached her smiling twin and its glowing companion. As she reached out of her hand to graze her fingers over the edge, Solas interrupted her.

“I don’t know what will happen. Hold on to my hand to keep us from being separated. Fade walking is not a skill you have developed. You could be trapped because I lost my connection to you.”

Idalya reached behind her, sliding her long fingers into Solas’ palm as her other hand stretched forward hesitantly towards the pulsing glow. Her fingertips buzzed as they drew closer and as her fingers made contact a blinding light overtook their eyes as she was pulled to some other place.

The room was composed of nothing but bright light from floor to ceiling. The buzzing in Idalya's fingertips now worked its way up and down the length of her entire body.

“Fuck!” she screeched, her voice echoing in the strange room. “I am so sick of this shit! I didn’t want this! No one would ask for this.” Her voice broke on the final words. “I don’t know why I thought it would be different with you here.”   
Solas squeezed his hand around hers in reassurance he recognized as inadequate. She shook her head and pulled her hand away and wrapped them both around her chest.

“I don’t know what I am or who I’m supposed to be. I have almost no memories, I’ve fallen into a time I don’t belong. Maker, I’m not even a warden anymore...” Solas stepped in front of her.

“What did you say?” His eyes scanned her face in panic.   
She looked at the ceiling, holding back tears, as she refused to make eye contact.

“After a warden undergoes their joining, they are forever linked to the darkspawn. I no longer have that connection.” She closed her eyes, squeezing tears out through her thick lashes.

Solas’ mind had gone blank. All of this for nothing. So much pain this girl had endured, and she might not be what they needed.

“How are you sure the connection is severed?”

Idalya looked him straight in the eyes. “Blackwall.”

“Has Blackwall said something to you?”

“Not yet, but I can no longer sense him. I should be able to sense every Grey Warden and darkspawn within a range of Skyhold and I sense nothing from him. I’m too scared to approach him and ask if he can sense me still. What if he goes to Leliana or the Inquisitor?”

Solas shook his head. “Warden’s protect their own. Blackwall has already shown that today, your secret is safe. We should investigate before the Inquisitor is aware.”

He was concerned for the wellbeing of the Hero. If the Inquisitor discovered she had no value, there's no telling what Evelyn would have planned for her. Experiment? Sell her off to the highest bidder? Anything that gained her more power over others made it worth it to Evelyn. Solas snooped through enough of Evelyn’s memories to know she was not to be underestimated.

The deadliest predators were the ones that looked the least threatening, letting you drop your defenses before stabbing you in the back.

“You would help me?” At that moment she looked so young.

She exuded strength, but this was pure vulnerability and she was trusting it to him. He'd disappointed many people in his life, she would not be one of them.

“You can trust me. I will warn you that sometimes the past is lost from history for a reason, what you find may hurt more than the absence of the memories themselves.”

She smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Are you ready to leave Idalya?”

Her eyes scanned the empty room. “Yes.”

He leaned close to her. “Then wake up.”

Her eyes widened in shock and she faded out of sight exiting the Fade.  
Solas sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples. This was far more complicated than he imagined. Some spell or magic destroyed the essence of who this girl had been, leaving behind broken pieces for her to put back together. It was cruel torture. Idalya didn’t deserve this.

Solas came into the Fade to make sure she could complete what the Inquisition needed from her. He left wanting to help her. He understood the dedication Leliana and Cullen vowed to the elf, he also understood Evelyn’s deep-seated hatred and mistrust for her. Something deep in that girl’s soul demanded respect and Solas would help her find what she needed even if it destroyed her because she asked for it and not ordered it like the Inquisitor.

Upon preparing to exit the Fade to meet Idalya in his rotunda, something caught his eye. In the corner of the room something, out of place, rested on the floor. Walking over and kneeling, Solas reached out and picked up the object.

A single long-stemmed red rose.

Perfect on all sides, left alone somewhere in what used to be a memory, he theorized. Unsure of the significance of a single flower, Solas placed it back on the ground before willing his soul back into his body.


	11. The Chapter Where Idalya is Terrible With Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being smited, Idalya is stuck on bed rest. At least she has visitors to help her pass the time.

Six days passed since Idalya was the unwilling recipient of a smite in the training ring. Awaking from her Fadewalk, Solas was waiting, his eyes patient, even if sarcasm flowed from his lips. He used a steady hand holding on to her shoulder to help her sit up while he summoned the healers to assist her back to her room. Her head spun, but the healers forced her to make the walk across the fortress.

Upon arrival, they set about removing her bloodstained clothing and forced her into a metal basin of hot water where they bathed the remnants of blood from her hair. Though she sustained no lasting visible injuries, Idalya found herself to be much weaker than expected. By the end of bathing, she gasped for breath, holding onto the edge of the tub until her knuckles were white in contrast to her tanned skin as the healers’ words became a jumble of overwhelming sound around her.

She sighed in sheer relief when Solas enter the room unannounced. He instructed the servants to remove her from the bath and prepare her for rest. Reentering the room when they finished, he thanked the healers and handmaidens and told them he had important Inquisition business with the Warden and would notify them when needed.

Idalya slumped back into her bed in exhaustion and he left her to get rest in peace. Visitors were allowed, but she was advised to stay on the strictest rest since she was leaving for the Winter Palace with the Inquisitor in less than two weeks’ time. Solas warned her that Evelyn had no patience for those who could not pull their own weight.

She assumed no one would have time with preparations for the Inquisition’s voyage, but visitors dropped by during her week of solitude.

Cullen came by with an old weathered chess set and two chatted about their memories of growing up in Ferelden and their mutual love of mabari as they played through a game she lost to the strategist.

Cassandra dropped in with some of her favorite novels for Idalya that turned out to be smutty love stories which Idalya hid under her bed and only took out to read with flaming pink cheeks and a roving hand when alone.

Dagna, whom she helped out of the Deep Roads so long ago, now worked with the Inquisition, came by multiple times to ask for samples of her for testing while Idalya turned her down while internally cringing in horror.

Even Blackwall made time from training Idalya’s soldiers to visit and check on his fellow Grey Warden. Idalya avoided the subject of her not sensing the taint in him and was grateful he avoided the subject. They shared stories of traveling across Ferelden and different anecdotes about their time in the Wardens.

For giving the first impression of a man of few words, Blackwall became more comfortable as he told stories of the sights he’d seen and the places he someday wanted to show Josie. Idalya was shocked when Leliana told her about the Warden and the Inquisition’s Ambassador. Listening to Blackwall speak of her with such warmth and care made it seem unbelievable that she ever thought they would be a mismatched pair even if she knew someday they would be separated by the taint that ran through their veins.

She thanked him for saving her without question in the training ring, but Blackwall was adamant the thanks should go to Knight-Captain Barris. The man standing defiantly in front of a row of Templar swords when Blackwall overheard the commotion. Blackwall recounted how he dragged off the incapacitated Templar and dropped them onto the floor into a very confused Commander’s office as he was in the middle of a lieutenant meeting.

Idalya laughed until tears peaked at the corners of her lavender eyes, holding her ribs in pain at Blackwall’s description of Cullen’s reaction to the disturbance. Blackwall might appear stuffy and cold to others, but as a brother in arms, she was glad to have him fighting by her side.

When time wasn’t pulling her in a million directions, Leliana would come and brush out Idalya’s long silver hair, re-oil it and braid into the current trending hairstyles in Orlais. The Spymaster claimed it was practice for the Inquisitor’s hair for the peace talks, but Idalya knew better. She smiled to herself as she listened to Leliana’s melodic voice drift over her explaining the newest trends in Orlesian shoes.

When Leliana wasn’t there rambling about fashion, Varric would come by and read selections from his works and his fresh finished chapters, much to the envy of the Seeker. Through the darkest hours of the night, Varric would keep her company reading and asking her honest opinion on stories since she hadn’t been alive to read his novels.

The squabbles of the carrier pigeons traveling in and out of the Spymaster’s rookery overhead awoke Idalya from her sleep. Her lavender eyes opened and squinted shut as the rays of sunlight bore into her skull. She groaned throwing an arm over her eyes and rolling to her side.

Asleep in the chair next to her bed was Varric, his head tilted to the side, an open copy of Tales of the Champion in his lap from where he had fallen asleep once again reading to her.

There was the softest rapping on her door and Solas entered his bare feet silent on the stone. He paused and watched the dwarf sleep in amusement before making his way to her side.

“How are you doing,  _Asha'lan_?” He made his way to the empty armchair next to her bed opposite of Varric.  

Her expression soured, and she rolled her eyes. “I don’t speak Elven.”

“I know.” He stated. “But I do, deal with it.”

The Warden arched an eyebrow at the mage but didn’t argue with the matter-of-fact tone of his voice.

“I’m very weak. This will improve, won’t it?” Her fingers picked at the sheets of the bed as her hidden level of concern showed through the cracks in her exterior.

“To be honest, it has already. The bedrest was a safety precaution while I waited to see what info made it to the Inquisitor. It appears your loyalty outranks hers since no one, not even the Commander, mentioned what happened in the training grounds.” Solas leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs with a smug look on his face Idalya assumed was his joy over having any advantage over Evelyn.  

Varric stirred across the room, grumbling in displeasure as his eyes adjusted to the rays of light from the bright morning at Skyhold.

“Morning sleepy head.” Idalya giggled as the dwarf straightened himself in the chair and wiped the stream of drool off his face on the back of a tanned muscular arm.

“Shit Kitty, why did you let me oversleep so long? I’m long overdue for my first ale of the day.” Varric raised his arms of his head stretching as a deep yawn worked its way out of his body.

Solas shot an eyebrow up as he took them in. _“Kitty_?” He asked incredulously.

“Ah, yes.” Idalya began, “After many weeks of trying every nickname on the face of Thedas, Master Tetheras has decided my nickname is Kitty since the Inquisition is hoping I have nine lives.” She shrugged, her shoulders dropping back against the headboard. “Nice sentiment, but I’m starting to think two lives are one too many…”

Standing to his feet, Varric looking at Idalya, his expression softening. “Hey Kitty, two sounds just about right. One life to live the way you see fit and another to fix the mistakes you made in the last one.” She nodded and turned to him with a genuine smile on her face.

“Thank you for keeping me company Varric, even if you snore like a Hinterland bear.”

“Don’t tell Cassandra that!” Solas scoffed. “She has enough prejudices against bears at it is.”

Varric rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated bow as he left her room.

Idalya and the mage sat comfortably in the silence until he spoke. “Why don’t you understand any Elven? Your mother was Dalish.”

“’ _Was_ is the key word there. Her clan struggled for years with resources, so they picked a clan representative to trade good and wares within cities they passed. In one such city, she met my father. He was a city elf, an assistant to a blacksmith. It was love at first sight.” She looked out the window to place thousands of miles away.

“He would give up everything to be with her. She returned to the first of her clan and asked for permission to bring him in. Even though he was a city elf, his skills with weapons and metals would be invaluable for the Dalish. The clan disagreed. They said she'd never see him again and if he came looking for her, he would be shot on sight.”

“My mother was stubborn. She thanked the elders then in the dark of night, packed her belongings and hiked back to the blacksmith’s cottage and found my father sleeping in the barn. She helped with small jobs in the city until they saved enough to move to Denerim. The Alienage isn’t a wonderful place, but they made a life together there. They had four children while my father worked odd jobs for blacksmiths and cobblers. He died in riots with the Denerim Guard when I was five.”

“I’m sorry  _Asha'lan_ , I should have realized this would not be an uplifting tale for you to share, forgive me.”

Idalya turned and found nothing but compassion filling his eyes.

“I’m not sure how many of us here today have a happy backstory, Solas.” She noted. “My mother blamed her clan for his death. She knew he would have strengthened the clan for the better. They were stuck in the past and refused to see reason. After my father died, she never mentioned her upbringing again. She taught my siblings and I to never forget that how we treat others defines you and to not get too caught up in titles or to hold on too tight to your past, so you suffocate your future.”

“She sounds like an intelligent woman.” Solas nodded in appreciation.

“She was. I think you two would have gotten along well.” As difficult as it was to comb through more recent memories, her memories of her family were untarnished and almost enough to fill in the empty voids in her mind. Losing her families’ memories would have been more than she could handle.

As Idalya sifted through her thoughts, Solas carried on prattling away on planning for the Winter Palace and what their roles would be when they infiltrated the Elven staff for the night to be the eyes and ears of the Inquisition. She noticed the sound of a particular set of metal boots making their way across the stone walkway outside the windows of her room.

In the near week of being stuck in the room, she amused herself by listening to the sounds of walkers outside her windows, identifying them and creating stories based on what she perceived as they walked by. One set of steps became intriguing to her, a set of heavy metal boots that came by in the morning and as the sun would set in the sky. Their fast steps would slow to an agonizing pace outside her door before picking back up their speed to continue down the walkway like nothing happened. She thought it was fellow soldiers checking in with the guard stationed outside her room, but with her sensitive ears, she would have heard any conversation.

Here were the boots again.

In her deep thoughts, she missed that Solas had stopped talking and was analyzing her with a raised eyebrow. Hearing the same steps, she did, he rolled his eyes, jumped up from his chair, and made his way over to the door. Without pause, the elf threw open the door of her room to unveil a very awkward Knight-Captain Barris, who stopped and stared at Solas in horror before the elf hit his limit on teenage bullshit.

“Ah, Ser Barris, I believe the Lady is awake for visitors if you’re interested.” Barris was silent as he looked back and forth between the two elves and Idalya struggled with all the self-control she owned to not burst out laughing.

Barris cleared his throat, “Yes… I, uhh… I would like that if the Lady is available.” Solas stepped past him out the door while shaking his head.

“Thank you for coming to visit, Solas.” Idalya thanked him with a cheeky grin.

“You’re welcome,  _Asha'lan._  Remember, you are resting. Try not to overexert yourself.” He gave a crooked grin to the elf who now blushed all the way to the tips of her ears. 

 _Maker, take me_. 

Barris was staring at his feet, his own blush showing through his dark complexion as Solas left them alone with a chuckle that carried down the stone walkway. Her heart raced as her initial excitement faded and she found herself frightened at speaking alone with the Templar. She imagined spending time alone with the handsome Templar before, but talking wasn’t a part of those festivities.

“Please come inside, Ser Barris. I’m sorry I have nothing for hosting, I could order us some tea if that pleases you.” She hoped her voice sounded less shaky than it felt it her chest.

Barris snapped out of his silence and moved forward after closing the wooden door behind him. “Thank you, my Lady, but I cannot stay. I wanted to see how you were feeling.” He took the seat closest to her, his armor dwarfing the average-sized chair, electricity traveling up her spine at the velvet sound of his voice.

“Ser Barris, I am no Lady. I’m an elf and a warrior. I’m confident that moves me as far out of the Lady category as possible.” She laughed as she sat up straighter against the headboard, realizing she was wearing only a thin sleeping tunic underneath her piles of sheets and blankets. The thought set off a cascade of thoughts running straight to her core. She needed to change her train of thought before she said something stupid.

“I am doing well. Blackwall says I have you to thank for that fact.”

“No, my La… Dal. It was my fault you were in the fight. I cannot take credit for helping when I put you in danger.”

His sword hand tightened around the pommel of his sword as the pink in the creases of his fingers suggested as he talked over her without making eye contact finding something of importance on the ceiling.

Idalya took this moment to study him if he was unwilling to look at her. The muscles in his neck tensed, accenting the handsome slope of his jaw, her eyes traveled over his broad shoulders accentuated by Templar armor. Her mind was cascading down a rabbit hole as she removed each piece of armor with slow precision to see what delicious surprise lingered underneath.

“I suppose we must agree to disagree, Ser Barris. Either way, I’m thankful it was you I had watching over me. You didn’t have to turn yourself against your men after what happened.”

She looked down at her hands, calluses in her palm and lining her fingers. These were the hands of a warrior, not a lady or a woman. Not the refined hands of a Lady that a noble like Ser Barris would look twice at as more than a comrade. These were the hands belonging to a difficult mission, an impossible one if she was honest with herself.

She snapped out her self-depreciation by Barris leaning forward to look in the eyes, his deep emeralds swimming with complicated emotions.

“Yes, I have to protect you. Not only is my duty to protect those that cannot defend themselves, but I could never let anything happen to you…” His words trailed off in a whisper and Idalya’s heart seized.

Her eyes opened in surprise and found Barris shared the same look on his own as though his words had gotten away from him. She moved forward as the compulsion to touch him was screaming through her veins.

Barris’ eyes glanced off her fingers stretching out towards him before drifting back to her eyes. His scanning emeralds traveled the length of her body as he tightened his fists at his side.

This day was taking a much different turn than Idalya expected, _but she was okay with that._

As she stretched forward to reach for the Templar that was so close yet so far away, the door to her room opened. An elven servant entered with a full tray of tea and pastries. Unaware of what she just interrupted, the servant hummed to herself as she brought the tray to the empty table.

“Compliments of Master Solas for the Lady and her guest.” She bowed to Idalya and Barris before exiting the room.

Idalya sat in stunned silence, her jaw slack.

_She would murder that smug bastard._

“You fucking asshole,” she growled under her breath.

“Excuse me, my Lady?” Barris was standing against the far wall since he jumped to his feet, not looking suspicious at all when the servant entered the room. His eyes were wide with horror at her flippant words.

Idalya gasped. “Oh no, not you Barris! _Solas_. I was referring to Solas… _nevermind_. I’m just going to stop talking now.” She slid a hand over her mouth to keep any other words from leaking out.

Barris shifted from foot to foot as though his armor was on a bed of hot coals.

“I… uh, I must make my leave, my Lady. Thank you for accepting my visit, I am glad to see you in full health again.” He bowed stiffly from his waist, hand wrapped back around his sword.

Idalya nodded still refusing to remove the hand from over her mouth for fear of something else stupid being said in front of this man. Barris waited a hesitant moment wondering if she would speak, but upon realizing she'd committed to keeping her silence, he mumbled something to himself and exited out the door, shutting it behind him without another word.

Idalya listened as his boots paused on her doorstep and she fought her self-control to not run out the door and apologize for acting like an idiot.

After a long pause, his boots began their trek away from her door. Sighing, she threw an arm over her eyes and flopped backward on the bed.

Solas was so on her shit list even if he was her mentor.


	12. The Chapter Where Blackwall Learns Sera's Seduction Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall awakens for another morning in Skyhold.

The sun broke early over the peaks of the Frostback’s its reach bathing Skyhold in golden light. Blackwall grunted a muffled sound of displeasure as its unwelcome rays fought their way through the windows. He wasn’t ready to leave the comforting warmth of fine Antivan bedding as soft and silky as the skin of the Antivan who had chosen them. Reaching out a weathered and scarred hand, he found Josie’s side of the bed long absent, his dark-skinned princess having risen for another full day of hectic planning in the final push before the Inquisition would depart for the Winter Palace.

Gripping the sheets in his hand, he pulled them to his face inhaling her sweet scents of soap and the perfume she applied to her neck every morning before dressing. A relaxed smile spread across his features as memories of the previous night awakened in his mind at her smell. Feeling his cock harden between his stomach and the mattress, he sighed face down into the feathered pillow. It would be many hours before Josie returned to his arms, much less moaning underneath him.

With a groan, he rolled to the side of the bed throwing the trunks of his legs off. His bare feet met the cold stones of the floor and he pushed back stretching his weary back, his joints popping to ease the pressure. Picking up his breeches and tunic from the floor, he shivered as his legs slid into the cool leather. He made his way to the washing basin, his knees cracking and complaining about these first steps of the day. The life of a warrior was difficult, taking its toll on Blackwall in many forms, between nightmares interrupting his sleep, nerve damage and scars over his body, to a past he spent a lifetime running from.

Looking into the ornate Orlesian mirror hanging above the basin, Blackwall stared into the eyes of Thom Rainer always staring back at him. He changed his armor, his hair grown long enough to cover his shoulders, and covered his lower jaw with a massive beard. The one thing of Rainer’s Blackwall could never hide were his eyes. Those sky-blue orbs shining out of the weary lids of the would-be warden would always give away the truth and he avoided looking at them.

Blackwall avoided mirrors so often that age crept unnoticed into his features. Years of guilt wearing him down pulled at his skin, leaving behind lines and wrinkles he associated with men much older than his 40 years. He did not understand what Josephine saw in him- a haggard and gruff man.

She was soft and exquisite, her skin’s glowing flush from his traveling fingers. What meant more to him was her heart. Diplomacy was important to her not only because of her upbringing, but because she strove to find a peaceful solution to problems. Josephine committed herself to helping others and stabilizing Thedas as Ambassador for the Inquisition.

The only way Blackwall solved a problem was with the sharp edge of a sword. Her love and compassion were more than he deserved. He was more than aware.

Months before after returning from a difficult Red Templar hunt, he’d spent the night in the Herald’s Rest self-medicating with Evelyn and Dorian. Blackwall found himself outside Josephine’s bedchambers in the middle of the night as the fortress slumbered. He was staggering on his deadened feet using a forearm to brace himself on the door when it opened.

With nothing to hold him, he collapsed on the floor, air rushing out his body as his chest hit the floor with a  _whoomph_. Josephine, without judgment, helped him to his feet, easing him down to sit on the edge of her garish Antivan poster bed. As she doted on him, he broke down in tears and told her for the first time that he was in love with her. He also told her he was not the man he pretended to be. He spent hours telling her every detail of his former life as Rainer, every detail haunting his waking nightmares hoping the truth would push this precious creature away from him for her own safety.

She sat in an ornate chair facing away from her windows, casting her face in shadow, as she listened to this mess of a man break apart at the seams as a hidden life of secrets came rushing through. No words broached her lips as she sat in silence, absorbing the information he was speaking. After finishing his head dropped into his hands as the beginnings of sobriety made their appearance and the consequences of what he just told the Ambassador weighed on his guilty conscience.

He jerked with fright when her gentle hands slid along his. Opening the eyes of a traitor, he expected to see hatred and fear emanating from hers. The look of compassion and love shining out of her beautiful brown eyes as she knelt in front of him blew him away. She was more than most good men deserved much less a vile one like him. She accepted his truths and loved him, sharing the joy of her life with him regardless of the sins of his past. He offered her time apart to think, but she was adamant she chose him because she knew inside was a good man.

He was not a good man, nor would he ever be.

After running away from himself for so long he knew the closer you kept yourself to someone, the harder it was for them to see your flaws. If Josie stayed supportive by his side, she could never see the monster Thom Rainer was.

As he splashed water from the basin over his face, he hoped that Cullen wouldn’t have to experience the same pain when he stepped back one day as Josie would. Sometimes the truth can be in front of someone’s face and they can still disregard it.

From the sounds of the birds greeting the sun’s climb through the sky, it was still early in the morning. Throwing on his insulated pieces of armor, he exited Josie’s room avoiding detection from the guards lining Skyhold’s halls. Blackwall needed to speak to Cullen at some point. In months of his covert traveling to Josie’s room, not once was he spotted. Where were they recruiting these unobservant bastards, anyway?

The only people awake were servants and the night patrol moving seamlessly across the pathways from one destination to another.

Exiting the front door of Skyhold’s hall, he inhaled, taking in a full breath of the fresh mountain air before his attention was caught the sound of a sword clanging in the distance. Heading down the hall’s steps, grimacing as his muscles ached down each step, he followed the rhythmic sound of metal meeting wood.

Cassandra’s line of training dummies came into view. Blackwall smiled to see Idalya alone swinging her sword at a stuffed dummy. Pieces of hay sticking out in every direction.

The Warden was thin and looked fragile to the plain eye, but Blackwall knew how much strength it took to power a two-handed sword with the ease she did. He wondered what the Warden was like in her first life and how many secrets she carried around in her pockets, ready to spill out the way he was.

Convinced the elf knew he wasn’t a Grey Warden, he wondered why she hadn't sold him out. She never mentioned his deception or pushed him to speak Warden knowledge to prove his membership to the club. Blackwall was hiding in plain sight and recognized the slight hesitation in her glace every time she looked at him. The tiniest glimpse under the armor she wore to hide from others that revealed she knew more than she was saying.

Why she chose not to say anything, he was unsure, but he hoped the woman he admired found him to be of value to the Inquisition and was the reason for her continued silence. Were he a braver man he would have approached her, dropped to his knees, and begged her in secret to make him a real Grey Warden, but he was a coward who, instead, made conversations about recruiting and what they’d seen during their travels throughout Ferelden.  

Not far over his shoulder, the door to the Herald’s Rest flew open and Bull ducked his massive horns to exit outside. Perched upon his shoulder a yawning Sera stretched out, a roll of bread in her hand she took too-large bites out of that filled her cheeks like a chipmunk. Bull nodded in acknowledgment and made his way towards him with large labored steps.

“Morning friends,” Blackwall greeted the strange pair, “Headed to the tavern early this morning, I see.”

The elf snorted, spilling crumbs down the front of Bull to the Qunari’s annoyance.

“Late. We’re just leaving.” Bull corrected, his voice rough from drink.

“I’m eating breakfast in bed!” the elf chimed in as she continued gnawing on the bread like a ravenous toddler.

The Warden chuckled, “I have to say I’m not sorry I wasn’t part of the gang last night. I’m too old to drink myself into a stupor anymore.”

“Yeah, you are!” Sera enthusiastically agreed, her ridiculous laugh echoing through the empty courtyard. Blackwall frowned and looked down to Bull.

“Why are you up so early, Blackwall? Talking in some of the more beautiful sights of Skyhold?” The Qunari winked as he gestured back towards where Idalya was still striking the Seeker’s dummies leaving a ring of hay floating down through the surrounding sky.

“Dal? Nah, not that attractive- too thin and too _elfy_ for my taste,” he lied.

Bull arched a non-believing eyebrow at the warrior, but let it go.

“Even better. More for the rest of us. I see nothing wrong with every inch of the Hero.” Bull said with confidence. “I know what people need. That woman needs to release tension badly. She’s a bow strung too tight, needing to be stretched and worn in before her thread snaps”

Blackwall cleared his throat as he avoided listening to the specifics of Bull’s words.

Sera laughed, throwing her head back. “Good luck with that! Sounds like a great plan if your goal is to get run through by a Templar sword! She doesn’t even have red hair! Now Quizzie? That one’s got your filthy name written all over it, you brute.” In a single graceful movement, the elf vaulted herself off the Qunari’s shoulders and landed in the dirt, making no sound. “You go keep yourself entertained with redheads and leave the luscious Hero to me. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to work a bow.” She gave them a cheeky grin.

Pulling her bow from her back, a single arrow was pulled from her quiver with feathers the color of fresh blood. Bringing the tip of the arrow to her mouth, she pressed a single kiss to the line of plumage. Without turning her feet towards the training area, she reached the bow to the side, pulling back the string while wiggling her eyebrows at the two warriors and released.

Blackwall’s heart caught in his throat, but in the blink of an eye, the arrow landed in the heart of the training dummy as Idalya was in mid-swing. Her reflexes kicked in and she jumped back pointing her sword at the resting arrow.

Looking in horror towards the group she hadn’t realized was there, she flipped them off then screeched, “Fuck off, Sera!” Her words echoing through the courtyard.

Sera giggled. “I think she likes me!” The elf skipped back to the Herald’s Rest to start a new day’s worth of drinking.

The two men stared ahead, unsure of what had just happened. Blackwall cleared his throat again.

“Can’t imagine why I never thought of shooting at a woman to get her interest, could have won Josie’s heart over months earlier if I tried arrows instead of flowers.”

Bull laughed and clapped Blackwall on the shoulder as the two of them followed behind the skipping elf to start the day properly.


	13. The Chapter Where Cullen Prays-NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's preparations for the Winter Palace are complete. He thinks he's ready until Evelyn pays him an unannounced visit. NSFW

He was so close. Weeks of frantic planning were winding down, and the Inquisition would set off for Val Royeux in the morning. Countless hours of planning between himself and Knight-Captains, Barris and Rylen, came down to a simple pile of parchment sitting atop his desk between the three exhausted men.

The papers contained the Inquisition’s plan to save Empress Celene, along with every contingency plan the men could think up. Ferelden shows up to talks?  There was a plan. Corypheus and his dragon attack the Winter Palace? Plan. Dorian gets so drunk he retches during the peace talks? Plan.

Cullen’s brain was emptied from the sheer number of what-ifs the group covered in the past week but was confident in his soldier’s abilities to execute any contingency thrown their way.

The Winter Palace was a different battle for Cullen, with most orders being given out by Barris and Rylen. Cullen argued with Evelyn when she told the war council her plan to take the remaining members of the Templar Order to the peace talks. She wanted to flex the Inquisition's power for show. As time drew to a close, the Commander found himself comforted to know two of the best Templar he’d ever worked with would run the show. They’d issue orders while Cullen was the smiling face of the Inquisition’s forces for the crowds.  _At least that_ _’s what they thought_.

The three men were standing around the table, long stripped from armor as darkness descended. Empty bottles of wine lined the edges of his wooden desk as Rylen keep years of compounding hangovers from catching up with him at once. As the night progressed, Cullen pulled a glass out of his desk and imbibed a glass or two over the passing hours, to placate a pounding withdrawal headache looming underneath the surface of his mind.

Barris, ever the professional, raised a judging eyebrow at the two but continued his work without a word writing out the plans since Cullen’s shaking hands prevented him from holding a quill straight, and Rylen couldn’t put down his wine and free up a hand.

Cullen had another reason for drinking he wasn’t willing to admit.

As the weeks barreled towards the peace talks, Evelyn became more withdrawn from everyone, including him. Before, she always made time between meeting nobles and running the Inquisition to visit him. Their relationship wasn’t one based on words, but Cullen found enjoyment in it. She was honest with her needs, having no trouble expressing wants Cullen struggled to phrase in his mind, much less speak out loud.

In the past few weeks, her time became not her own. On leaving each war council, Leliana or Josephine would grab her by the arm to steer her towards her next dress fitting for the ball. Cullen held no inkling of what a noble woman’s closet resembled for an event such as this. If her constant fittings were an example, it was a world he wanted nothing to do with.

Having Evelyn snared into the Ambassador and Spymaster’s web of planning for the Game only freed up Cullen to bury himself that much deeper into the work he struggled to keep a healthy balance of when she _was_ around.

In the last week, his head had become a stranger to the vicinity of his pillow. The few times he snuck into Evelyn’s quarters when the need to see and feel her became too great, he found her long returned to the Fade in her ornate bed. Empty bottles of wine cluttered her desk and littered about the floor where Cullen assumed she’d tossed them in her frustration at their empty status.

Her sleep was not a restful one. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. The mark sparked erratically in her hand, casting an ominous jade glow over her skin and the room. He tucked back the pieces of her auburn hair fallen out of her loose bun as she’d tossed and turned, trying to find peace in the Fade. The peace that eluded her.

He knew the pressure weighing down on her—playing the Game was what she was raised for. The Inquisition’s hope at Halamshiral would rest on the shoulders of the women of their war council. Cullen only knew how to hurt others with a swing of sword and shield, but Evelyn, Leliana, and Josephine could destroy generations of a family with a well-placed sentence. If it wasn’t for his fierce loyalty to Evelyn and their mission, he would have stayed behind in Skyhold, letting Barris and Rylen the army in his stead.

His eyes grew heavy as the trio compiled the last plans for soldiers housing and guard duties. The door to his office flung open. Its impact cracking against the stone wall, the draft extinguishing half the candles in the office. Blowing the stack of compiled paperwork to the floor.

Fingers reaching instinctively for the sword missing at his side, his eyes focused on the person making a grand entrance into his office in the middle of the night. Hidden by the cover of night, a vibrant flash of green from one hand, the outline of a bottle clutched in their other. Cullen’s hand relaxed as it gripped his side, still looking for his sword stowed with his polished armor.

Evelyn sauntered into the office, staggering on her feet and bringing the scents of wine and one of Bull’s Qunari concoctions wafting off her. As she stepped into the circle of light from the one remaining candle, Cullen’s breath caught in his chest. She wore a simple, white, sleeveless dress flared at her knees, brown leather boots at the hem. Her hair a cascading halo of red curls fell down her back hugging her bare shoulders as the draft from the open door blew the tendrils.

Cullen could feel the Templar’s awkward stances around him as they looked in confusion back and forth from one another, but Evelyn’s olive eyes locked to his and paid them no heed.

“ _Get out._ ” Her words sounded gentle, but the meaning behind them was not.

Without hesitation, Barris and Rylen crossed the room and exited. They feed without a glance back.

If Templar did one thing well, it was taking orders without question.

As he took a step towards her around the desk she mirrored the movement, taking a step back in perfect sync. Cullen paused, analyzing her expression, but the drink was keeping her true face hidden from him. He took a slow, deliberate step towards her, and she took a measured step back towards the door. They continued this game, one step after another, in unison until her features disappeared into the dark and he heard the muffled sounds of her shoulders meeting the heavy wooden door.

He continued his laborious pace towards her. She lifted the wine bottle to her lips tilting her head back against the door, downing the rest of the bottle. As her head bobbed back in his direction, her hand flung out to the side, throwing the bottle, where it exploded against the bookcases.  

“ _Evelyn! What in the Maker_ _’s name is -_ ” He never finished his sentence.

At that moment Evelyn grabbed him by the stiff collar of his tunic and flipped them around until he crashed into the door, the back of his head slamming against the wood.

His anger flared to the surface from the pain radiating through his neck and spine, but as he looked into the endless depths of her green eyes, he pushed it back down as he controlled the hands at his sides pushing into the wood of the door to maintain a level of control.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes as she observed him. Her marked hand drifted up over his abdomen, her fingers playing over the edges, causing his muscles to twitch beneath her touch. His long golden lashes fluttered shut as he listened to the pounding of his heart within his chest. Still racing with anger and being taken over by another emotion, one far darker and hungrier than the one before. 

At least it was until, fast as lightning, Evelyn struck him open-handed across the face. Cullen’s eyes flew open in fury, his cheek burning from her assault. He was gasping for breath and fighting to keep control of his anger towards this ridiculous woman.

A slight smile played on her lips as her tongue flicked across the wine-stained flesh.

“You would never hurt me, would you Cullen?” Her question rang through his body like another hit. 

Was that what this was? A loyalty test to prove he wasn’t like the men who hurt her in the past? The realization helped him release the anger rising in his throat, the sting on his cheek and the lack of tension leaving him deflated.

“No.” He croaked out. He couldn't swallow his throat was so dry, his head pounding with a complex maelstrom of emotions. “I would never hurt you, Evelyn.”

 _“Mmm_.” His response pleased her as a wicked grin spread across her plump lips. Reaching up to his face, she ran her thumb over his lower lip with a pressure that was painful.

Cullen stifled a moan deep in his chest as he waited to see what her end game would be.

“You care for me Cullen, don’t you?”

He tried to hide any change in his expression, but he knew it was no use when faced with a master of the Game. This wasn’t how he imagined telling her the depth of his feelings, but there were a lot of things in this relationship that were not what he expected.

“Y-yes,” he stumbled over the words in her presence. He trusted Evelyn, but sometimes he could not help but sense she was balancing on the edge a bottomless pit with holding his hand.

“Tell me.” She purred, leaning her upper body closer to his so only her lips were close to touching.

Words were not his skill, but he was a desperate man, and he’d do anything at her call. He swallowed as he looked into her eyes, olive laid within a sphere of brown.

“You are the first thing I think of in the morning. The last before sleep.” She was a desire demon, summoned from the pits of his fear, dark and carnal and whispering promises bound to be broken. “Every moment I’m near you I want to touch you, pleasure you, worship you.”

“Oh,  _worship_  you say.” She arched a formed brow at him. “That sounds delightful.” She backed up, swaying her full hips until her spine was square with the ladder to his loft. “Do you like that I’m the Herald of Andraste?” she leaned her head back against the rungs of the ladder, running her hands over her collarbones and dragging them, ever so slowly, over her breasts. “Or do you imagine that I’m Andraste herself as you slam your hard cock in me?  That as my cunt comes around you, I’m absolving you of your filthy sins, one by one?”

In two strides, Cullen was pressing her into the wooden ladder, his hardness jutting into the curve of her hip. He was out of his mind with desire and the simmering shame Evelyn’s words ignited in him, her depravity brushing closer to the truth than Cullen knew.

Electricity sparked through his fingertips at his desperation to touch her, soil her, mark her as his. All of it bringing him closer to his breaking point. As he leaned in to press his lips to hers, her hand flew over his mouth, stopping him with cruel efficiency. Her eyes bored into his, olive challenging amber, before motioning with her hand to the floor.

“ _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter_ , _Cullen_. Get down on your knees and pray, sinner.” The groan he’d suppressed worked its way out of his throat as he collapsed to his knees on the stone floor, a broken man come to beg a favor at the altar of his redemption.

He bent down and pressed his lips to the top of her covered foot. Evelyn hummed in approval as Cullen worked his way up her laces. Pressing open-mouthed kisses against the leather, the smell of earth, leather, and Evelyn filling his senses.

“ _Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest nights_.” He spoke against her boots, the leather dragging deliciously against his lips. He reached the top of the border, his lips meeting the skin of her thigh, he moaned into her flesh, marking her not only with his mouth and teeth but with his words.

With his unworthy hands, he pushed the fabric of her skirt up while licking, biting, and kissing his way across her inner thigh while she panted above him. “ _Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_.” His erection strained against his breeches as he uncovered her white lace small clothes. Callused fingers hooked into the flimsy cloth he pulled down her milky white legs.

Leaning forward, he pushed his nose into the auburn curls at the apex of her thighs and inhaled. “ _Make me to rest in the warmest places_.”

Evelyn gasped, and Cullen leaned back on his heels to look into her eyes as his fingers slid over her sex to tease at her folds. “ _See me kneel: for I walk only where You would bid me_.” Every muscle in his body tightened as her wetness slipped past his fingers to drip down her legs. His fingers glided between her smooth folds, trailing them around the edges before drawing his thumb across her clit.

Evelyn moaned as her thighs shook with his ministrations. Fingers dragged down the length of her sex, he slid two fingers inside her, fighting back a grin as her eyes rolled back into her head with a sigh. “ _Stand only in places You have blessed._ ”

Languidly inside her, his fingers worked feeling every clench.  He was drunk on the power of watching this woman, martyr, leader, fall to pieces around his hand. The tiniest of mewls escaped her lips, which meant she needed more, would beg for more. Pressing his nose back into her curls, his tongue sliding over the outside of her sex. “ _Sing only the words You place in my throat._ ” 

At the end of his words, he slid his tongue between her folds and Evelyn moaned loud enough to echo off the walls of the office. Cullen lapped at her like a starved man while his fingers continued to stroke inside of her. Her climax was approaching, and he wanted to hear her scream, to throw her head back and cry his name as her walls came crashing around him.

His tongue trailed up the length of her sex, lips wrapping around her bundle of nerves and sucking as he stroked harder within her. That was all it took. Her legs shook before the tremble starting within her core overtook every muscle along her refined curves. Hitting her peak, her cries filled the empty places within the room and she pressed her thighs against the sides of his head. As she arched her back into the rungs, his mouth released her bundle to lick her sweet nectar as it spread down his fingers. “ _Tell me I have sung to your approval_.”

Evelyn’s legs were shaking as she dropped to her knees in front of Cullen. Leaning back against the ladder, her breathing unsteady, a deep flush running across her porcelain skin.

With a moment of clarity, he took her shaking hand and pressed it against his pounding heart. “ _Know my heart._ ” He whispered. “ _Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy_ , Evelyn… _Touch me with fire that I be cleansed_.” 

An unreadable expression passed over her features. He thought for a second, she might jump to her feet and run out the door, but when her eyes met his again, her walls were secured back in place.

Crawling on her knees away from the ladder, she paused in the stream of moonlight drifting down from the ceiling hole in the loft. Her pupils blown, turning them black as night. Her voice husky as her body quivered with need. “ _All this is yours_ _… Join me in heaven and sorrow no more_.”

Cullen moved forward and wrapped his arms around her as her deft fingers unlaced his breeches, freeing his erection from its confines. As he shrugged his breeches off, he grimaced as his knees came down onto the stone, into the grains of glass from the shattered wine bottle.

Behind her on the floor, Evelyn reached for one of the larger shards and brought it to the front of her dress, slicing through the fabric at her neck. Her other hand grabbed the collar of the dress and tugged, the fabric splitting down the front of her chest exposing her breasts covered by matching white lace Orlesian lingerie.

Not moving her eyes from his, she slid the piece of glass between her skin and the lacey material, gasping a low moan as the glass caught along the smooth surface of her skin. As she pulled the glass forward along the lace, the pattern splintered and broke open, spilling her breasts out to meet the open air, a trickle of blood running down the valley between them. His hands moved with a determination of their own grabbing her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers and pinching them as her pants and pleas grew louder until she was crying for him.

Desperation winning, he closed the distance between them. His tongue drove into her hungry mouth. Ev moaned, pushing her chest upwards into his hands, grinding her sex against his bare thigh to find the friction she needed.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Evelyn?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“You want me to fuck your cunt until you can’t walk straight, don’t you?”

“ _Maker, yes_.” She moaned as he continued to work his fingers roughly over her.

He pushed her down onto her back, her chest heaving with every breath. “You need me to defile you, don’t you? They all look at you like you’re Andraste, a god returned to save us all, but I see you, Evelyn. _I fucking see you_.” He pushed her thighs apart. As he crawled over her, the clouds moved in the sky above, highlighting her face where tears were falling from pale green eyes widened as they looked into his.

He turned his head away unable to meet her gaze and moved to pull away before her hands shot to his face to turn him to face her.

“Please,” she begged. His eyes searched hers before she rolled her hips, running her sex along his erection, which throbbed in response. “Please.” She asked again, her voice unsteady.

Cullen inhaled and held the breath as he pushed past her folds to situated himself inside her. Evelyn arched her head back, her auburn hair fanning around her head, tangling with shards of glass.

She was home. The place he could lie down his secrets and fears and live without their weight.

He buried his face into the side of her neck, wrapping an arm around her lower back and thrust inside her. Keeping the pace slow, he felt her quiver with every slow pull of his cock, and every tremble as pushed back inside. “ _Find me well within Your grace. Make me one within Your glory_.” His lips moved against the sensitive skin of her neck and her moans grew louder as she approached her break point again.

“Cullen.” His name spilled from her lips then, becoming her mantra and plea as she repeated it over and over again as the tightness built up within her heat. He needed to hear her, need to feel her clench him in desperation, needed to feel her absolve him.

Wrapping a hand around her thigh, he hitched her leg towards her chest and thrust forward, moaning at how much deeper he was situated in her cunt. Evelyn’s whimpers and cries grew louder, her fingers digging into the sides of his back, and Cullen thrust harder as her walls trembled.

“ _Let the world once more see Your favor_.” 

Words spilled from her lips- his name, the Maker’s, her cries of _yes_ filling the empty spaces within his heart. Two thrusts later and Cullen followed her in his own release. His eyes shut, he cried her name and the Maker’s as stars exploded across his vision. His lungs were burning as their passion ignited the surrounding air.

Opening his eyes, he found Evelyn staring into them, an unreadable emotion screaming through.

“Get off me.” Her voice was quiet, but Cullen moved like she shouted the words from the ramparts. Rising to her feet without a sound, she pulled the sides of her dress closed before walking to the door, her arms wrapped around her chest.

“Ev…” Cullen’s words failed him.

Evelyn never turned back, opening the wooden door of the office and exiting, letting the door swing shut behind her. Cullen laid back against the rungs of the ladder. A sigh exhaled as he ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“ _You are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only Yours to give._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is enjoying the story!


	14. The Chapter Where Idalya is Distracted By Handsome Templar

Skyhold panicked as the morning arrived for the Inquisition to depart for the Winter Palace. Weeks of meticulous planning executed with efficiency in the courtyard below Idalya as she watched with curiosity. She sat on the ramparts. Her long legs dangling off the side, watching the crowds scatter in the courtyard. Soldiers struggling to drag carton after carton of supplies to the waiting carriages.

The best part of posing as a servant, Idalya discovered, was packing one small travel bag with her servant attire and light armor. Josephine forbid her to bring her swords, so she sheathed multiple daggers on her body she dared the Ambassador to go hunting for.

She chuckled watching servants carry another crate of Evelyn’s clothing and supplies for the ball. By the looks of it, Josephine and Leliana planned to bring everything in Evelyn's room to the peace talks. The Inquisition would stay less than a week, yet it required numerous fittings and every tailor and dressmaker the Inquisition could find to finish all her dresses before their departure.

Today she appreciated not being in charge.

A heavy wooden door side tower creaked open behind her. The Commander exited with Knight-Captains, Rylen and Barris, in tow. Their caravans and carriages would leave within the hour, so the three dressed casually, tunics and breeches replacing their heavy armor. For men who looked so intimidating during their jobs, the three now looked no different from anyone she would pass in the Skyhold halls during the day. Except the three were far more attractive than anyone she ever crossed paths with.

These were men she viewed as comrades in arms and brothers. Men she trusted, without question, with her life. As she watched the under-dressed warriors make their way across the battlements, blood rushed to her cheeks and other less conspicuous places.

Cullen was tall and broad. It was surprising how broad his shoulders remained after the removal of his armor. His heavy plate fit well and disguised his size. He spent the last two decades conditioning, and it showed. She much preferred the muscled and confident ex-Templar to the mental image of the bloodied and terrified boy she met in the tower.

While Kinloch happened over a decade ago for Cullen, for Idalya it was only months. Sometimes she struggled to separate the two in her head as she worked with him. Memories of his bloodshot, crazed eyes, fear filling his voice with such venom. He was not that man anymore and deserved respect for what he overcame. She vowed to no longer associate him with his weakest moment.

With his sleeves rolled up and spiraling tattoos winding the length of his arms, Rylen’s rebellious nature was on display for all to see as he laughed. In her many passes through Skyhold, she heard attractive serving boys and girls whisper in darkened corners of the tattoos underneath his clothes discovered during drunken flings in the middle of the night.

Her and Rylen sparred each week since her arrival to Skyhold and in all those rounds he never treated her with less respect than any other soldier on the field. When she stepped in the ring, it didn’t matter she was a woman, an elf, or the Hero—he always treated her like a soldier and wasn’t awed the way some recruits were. Sometimes that was not to her advantage as she spent the rest of the night tending to bruises and aching joints in the healer’s after their spars.

And then there was Barris,  _oh Maker_ , Barris. He was beautiful. It was the only word that came to mind when her eyes would catch him in her line of sight across Skyhold. He was shorter than Rylen and narrower than Cullen, but thickly muscled and limber. She watched him train with the recruits more times than she would admit and found him built for speed and strength.

What also piqued her interest was that he was also an intelligent fighter. He predicted the next moves of battle as much as countering them from his opponents. He moved shifted constantly in his civilian clothes, just as awkward as Cullen at being out of his uniform. She wondered if they slept in their armor and just took it off for polishing before replacing it to feel safe again.

She hadn’t seen Barris since he visited her during her bedrest the previous week. Everyone of importance in Skyhold was burdened down with planning duties as the time to prepare ended. Idalya was certain after her venomous slip of the tongue that any conversation they could have attempted would be a disaster. She stood by the decision to keep her hand clamped over her mouth to prevent herself from speaking.

When he didn’t approach her for the next week in the training area, she knew she destroyed any chance of getting to know the handsome Templar better. Though the two of them unable to phrase words appeared to be a theme between the two introverted warriors.

The first day she could leave her room and explore Skyhold, she found herself drawn to the training circles after she met with Cassandra and watched the movement and footwork of the soldiers. She was at home in the clang of swords and grunts of trainees in this strange fortress humming with magic. She spotted Barris from the side as he barked out orders to a group of exhausted Templars stumbling through the end of their training.

As she approached the ring to observe, he saw her from the corner of his eye. Turning to face her, she’d never forgotten the look on his face. His eyes narrowed as his lips parted, staring in confusion like his world was crumbling around him.

They stood in silence taking in one another until Josephine appeared, a whirlwind sweeping through, summoning Idalya to the War Room. When she found the two warriors still staring, the Ambassador apologized for her rudeness and introduced Knight-Captain Delrin Barris of the Templar Order and her as Dal, an experienced volunteer who joined the Inquisition.

Barris stood frozen.

Josephine frowned before clearing her throat to snap Barris from his trance. Idalya held out her hand for him to shake, a common gesture between soldiers. When he took her hand in his, turning her palm down to bow low over her tingling fingers while never breaking his gaze from her.

Her hand was on fire as his skin touched hers. She didn’t understand what his look was about, but she understood what it did to her. The fire burning on her skin moved into her stomach and down into her core, an undeniable throbbing causing her to press her thighs together as she kept her focus in front of the Ambassador and the soldiers surrounding them she was sure were staring at this point.

Who was this man? Never in her life had she felt such an instant attraction to someone… at least she thought she hadn’t.

The thought she didn’t know who she was much less who this stranger was, broke her from his spell and she stepped back, ripping her hand back with her from the confused Templar.

Josephine whisked her away after, but as she walked across the courtyard towards the War Room with the Ambassador, Idalya couldn’t help but keep looking back over her shoulder at the Templar who remained unmoved whom she’d never spoken a word to.

After that first day, she always was hyper-aware of when Barris entered the training fields with her.

She investigated the past of the mysterious man but hadn’t needed to since Iron Bull and his chargers loved to tell stories so all she needed was to mention the Knight-Captain’s name and that the next round was on her and the Chargers were more than happy to indulge the rest.

She learned of the fall of the Templar Order at Therinfal Redoubt. How Barris stood with the Inquisition as the envy demon attempted to eliminate all the Templar uncorrupted by red lyrium. Idalya saw the level of respect Bull held for the man as he recollected the story. The Qunari understood how difficult it was to give up everything you believed in, turning against it for the greater good.

Now she knew he was a good decent man, she didn’t avoid him in her paths through Skyhold. Their conversations stayed brief and professional, even their embarrassing exchange in her room the week beforehand. Part of why she approached him for the Red Templar training was because she knew he would remain a professional. Though she avoided his eyes knowing the temptation that laid behind them.

Barris out of his Templar uniform was not helping her self-imposed control. His tunic and breeches were snugger against his body than the other two since his main skill was speed and deflection over strength. As he shifted back and forth, Idalya could see the hard muscles of his thighs contracting and releasing, his hand opening and closing so the muscles of his arms flexed and peeked out the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearm. The knowledge that he held her in those arms when he protected her was not helping keep her mind out of the metaphorical gutter as her crafty mind was stripping the handsome Templar piece by piece.

“Idalya, are you okay?”

She looked up in surprise to find Cullen standing over her, a look of concern on his face, with Rylen and Barris by his side. 

_Shit, how long have I been daydreaming?_

“Yes… I fine. Yup, fine. Why do you ask?

Cullen narrowed his eyes at her, small wrinkles framed framing the ovals. “Your face. You were staring at us like something was wrong.”

“ _Oh_.” Idalya looked at them desperate for any inspiration or answer. “Um, you look strange.” 

 _Dammit, Dal_. 

The pit in her stomach sank as she suppressed a tragic groan from passing through her lips. A burning passed over the edges of her ears and she regretted pulling her hair up into a loose ponytail, so everyone knew of her spreading blush.

There was a moment of tense silence from the three Templar before Rylen burst into laughter, holding his side in near pain as his two companions looked at him in confusion, their brows raised. He wiped a tear out of his eye as he looked at Idalya, now stabbing him with mental daggers.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry.” His voice was rough, and he coughed as his laughter threatened to overtake him again. “I’m sorry, I am. I wasn’t expecting that face and adorable blush.” He cleared his throat. “Thing for Templars? I could see that. Have you never seen a Templar out of armor, dear?” He gave her a cheeky grin. “If you haven’t, I’m sure I sure I can fill in some blanks for you if you’re interested.”

“ _You will not!_ ” Cullen and Barris turned in unison to glare at Rylen.

Tears welled back up in Rylen’s eyes as his chest fought the laughter threatening to rip its way out of his body which would put him in danger of the Commander ripping his heart still beating from his chest. He pulled himself back together when saw the fury in Idalya’s violet eyes. Every minute Dal spent out with the soldiers and wandering the halls of Skyhold, she was the consummate professional. Her presence exuded strength and precision, so to see her so flustered over  _boys_  had been too much for Rylen. It made her a more relatable person than an untouchable hero which she wasn’t, but he wished others would remember that.

Idalya ears and cheeks burned as she imagined all the ways she could hurt Rylen before he defended himself. Cullen looked like he was seconds from tackling Rylen himself, but Barris… he was looking at her with such gentle eyes. No anger, no embarrassment, he looked concerned for her.

Her gaze shifted back to a red-faced, teary-eyed Rylen.

“ _I could slit your throat in your sleep with no one noticing_ ," she hissed under her breath.

“Oh, I’m aware, my dear, but you wouldn’t because like these two,” he pointed behind him at the annoyed Templars, “you’re the _honorable_ type.” He kneeled to looking her. “You wouldn’t take a life unless you forced to unlike others around here…” as his voice trailed off, his eyes drifted unconsciously to the carriages below where was Evelyn conversed with Leliana. “I’m sorry if I offended you. It was fun to see something human out of you.” She frowned. “Well, you know what I mean. Taking down the walls you keep up won’t kill you… again.” Both laughed at the shocked expression on the Commander’s face.

Rylen stood and turned to Cullen, “I’ll head down and start the final checklists before Josie erupts in flames. Barris.” He gave a nod and wink to Barris as he headed down the flight of stairs into the main courtyard.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed.

“Some days, I’m not sure why I thought it was a promising idea to invite him into the Inquisition. He didn’t just show up at Haven’s front gate out of the blue looking for a job, I  _insisted_  he join.”

Idalya pointed a finger at her chin and peered towards the sky in thought. “Because he’s handy with a sword and Bull can’t keep all the servants of Skyhold satisfied by himself?”

Cullen choked, pounding a fist against his chest, Barris throwing a smile in her direction as he chuckled at his Commander’s death throes. Idalya laughed as Cullen’s face turned the brightest shade of crimson.

“You okay, Commander?” she inquired, batting her lashes at him.

He tilted one side of his mouth downward as he turned to Barris, “I will follow Rylen before I die of shock. See you two down there. We’ll be heading out in under an hour.” Cullen left shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath about having _the weirdest fucking day_ as he made his way toward the gathered Advisors.

Idalya looked up at Barris, who was still watching her, a coy smile on his face as he relaxed back against the battlements.

“Sorry for that,” Barris shrugged. “I swear, Templars can speak with a woman for over two sentences. We’re decent people when we haven’t been awake for a week straight planning military strategy.” As she studied his face, Idalya could see the same set dark circles under his eyes Cullen carried, his shoulders slumped.

“Plan ready to go?” She kept her voice steady and her eyes on acceptable areas instead of the constant flex of contracting muscles below his neck she would not allow herself to watch for her own safety and Barris’ if she was being honest.  

“The Commander is an outstanding tactician. Every variable accounted for. Cullen and our army will succeed in eliminating the physical threat to the crown and everything else will fall to the Inquisitor. Cullen believes in her, she will not lead us astray, Dal.” He dropped his hands to his sides and took a step towards her, offering his hand. “We should prepare to leave.”

She looked at his hand before her eyes flicked up to his. Here she was peering into his gorgeous set of deep hazel-green eyes. As she held his gaze with no hesitation, his eyes opened in surprise before he reached down, sliding his hand into hers to help her off the floor while never breaking eye contact.

Her hand closed around his as he pulled her to her feet, much closer than she expected to stand. When she tilted her head back, their gazes realigned, and she focused in on his eyes.

 _There it was_.

The tremors escalated from the back of her mind. A pounding in her skull working its way to the front. A cascade of drums rushing past her. Clenching her eyes shut, she pushed her hands against her ears mumbling “ _No, no_ _…  please no._ ”

Her vision failed, but Barris’ surrounded her as he pulled her into his arms, securing her against his strong chest as the fractions of memories washed over her.

Her memories could crest over her like waves on the shore, but this time they stabbed like the thinnest of daggers, an image here, a sound there. Nothing concrete and painful. 

Brown eyes- the color of melted caramel. A laugh. “ _I will follow you forever, Idalya_ _…_ ” Short black hair, a flare of magic. “ _Well, well what have we here?_ ” Swirls of color and shape soared past until the images jarred and faded.

An earthy taste was the first sense that returned. She could taste dirt in her mouth and the acid creeping up her throat caused her to gag. She sprang forward to her hands and knees retching onto the stone pathway. There were voices muffled behind her she could not heed. She couldn't breathe, her body shaking uncontrollably. She jolted in fear when a steady hand appeared on her back. The touch not of fire, but of ice- _Solas_.

The elf cooled the skin over her shoulders and neck. He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes drifted to Barris and he pressed his thin lips together before turning back to her.

“It’s… okay. I trust him.” Words stuck in her throat from the violent trembling in her body, beads of sweat forming on her brow.

Solas rolled his eyes before continuing.

“How many times have you slipped into the Fade?” He whispered.

Over his shoulder, she saw Barris’ eyes grow wide before regained control of his demeanor.

“This, this has never happened before. I was awake… how could I be in the Fade?”

“Yet another mystery you have created for me,  _Asha_ _’lan_. I think every mage in Skyhold felt you slip in- that took a tremendous amount of power. Your clever Templar friend here learned from last time and eased you into a dampening field to prevent you from hurting anyone. It drew you safely back. Speaking of, Ser Barris,” the mage turned to the concerned Templar with no humor in his eyes, “How about you drop the field, so I can heal our _friend_?”

Barris met Idalya’s eyes, conflicted as he outstretched his hand. Solas shook his head in annoyance as the field flickered around them and dropped. The mage reached forward and helped Idalya lean back on her heels, placing his hands at her temples as his healing magic pressed into her.

As the pressure loosened in the base of her skull and shoulders, an illicit moan passed over her lips and her eyes popped open in horror as she saw Barris’ cheeks fill with red as he shifted to the side facing away from her.

Solas’ rolled his eyes again as he continued to send healing magic through her temples. If the elf rolled his eyes again, she theorized they would get stuck that way. As he pulled his hands away, Idalya’s body slumped forward with a sigh, her forehead resting against his shoulder.  

“Barris,” Solas turned his head to look at the Templar, “get her downstairs to the carriages. I will cover and say it was a training exercise. For her safety, do not mention this to the Inquisitor. I fear for her life if the Inquisitor believes her to be a danger.” Helping Idalya to sit on her own, he stood to look Barris in the eye. “You will protect her, won’t you?”

Barris nodded and moved to her side, wrapping a muscled arm around her to lift her to her unbalanced feet. “You have my word.” He answered, his authority clear, never breaking eye contact until Solas exited down the side path of stairs to meet with the group of confused mages gathering in the main courtyard over the source of the immense magic radiating through the fortress.

Idalya stood up straight, her posture uncertain, and took a few wobbled steps with Barris’ hand guiding her from the small of her back. Her breath was unsteady, her eyes focused on what was ahead instead of the feel of his fingers pressed against her sensitive skin.

she rolled her shoulders letting her muscles relax. She inhaled, holding it with her eyes closed until she exhaled with a shudder. Her balance strengthened when she opened her eyes. She stepped out away from Barris with hesitant steps until she was sturdy enough on her feet to walk. She paused at the stairway, her back still the Templar. Without his heavy armor that echoed with each step, she gasped to find him silent at her side.

“Are you okay?” He whispered close to her pointed ear. A chill ran the length of her spine at the timbre of his voice.

His face already read he wouldn’t believe whatever bullshit answer she made up to pacify people into leaving her alone.

Her eyes flicked away from him back out over the courtyard full of scurrying servants and soldiers. “I’m not sure. One moment I'm terrified, to being surrounded by friends the next, motivated by a cause I can dedicate myself to. I fall asleep and I'm so lost, but then I wake up…” her eyes flicked over to meet his, “and for these brief moments I’ve never been more home.”

Barris’ breath faltered as she watched him. His eyes searching hers before he backed a step away.

“I understand what you mean. We… we should go before the Inquisition leaves without us.”

Idalya nodded, dropping her eyes to the ground as she followed him down the stairs moving one numb foot after other as she made her way to the courtyard.

She was unsure if her order to leave Skyhold was the worst decision the Inquisitor could make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com
> 
> If you're enjoying this story, check out Burning in the Flames, a Cullen/Evelyn prequel fic, in the Idalya Mahariel stories link above!


	15. The Chapter Where Iron Bull is Stuck in a Carriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition is traveling to the Winter Palace at break-neck speed, which leaves Bull, Cassandra, and Dorian stuck in their carriage in silence.

The parade of carriages lurched forward in the middle of the gravel-filled road leading to Halamshiral. Iron Bull sighed attempting to rotate the heft of his shoulders in the confined space. His cramped neck yearned to stretch as the Orlesian-style monstrosity Josephine referred to as _transportation_ wasn't designed to house the height of a Qunari much less the spread of his horns.

The constant ache in his neck began early in the journey and continued as they sped over roads an entire day without stop. Bull hated traveling like this. He was loath to admit he missed Evelyn’s eclectic mix of mounts she kept in Skyhold. The beasts groaned, moving at a sluggish pace under the weight of a Qunari rider, but at least Bull moved his entire body instead of being caged like a  _Saarebas_.

Out the window of their varnished cage, Dorian stared while holding an empty bottle of Tevinter red in his shaking hands, his thumbs running over the smooth glass as his mind was miles away.  _Distant. Cold to others. Hiding something. Trusts no one._  Bull assumed Dorian would travel with his regular ‘drink until they passed out’ companion on their journey to Halamshiral. The Trevinter cursed out Evelyn as a witch, in front of her soldiers, when she grabbed the Commander by the collar and ordered him to her private carriage.

The mage resigned himself at having to slum it with the rest of the companions. Over the past few hours he settled himself in to drown in the bottles of wine he slipped past the Ambassador as Cassandra and Bull watched him in silence from the other side of the carriage.

The Seeker was one of the last companions to join their ridiculous caravan as her, Cullen, and the Templars rechecked the final lists for their voyage. As the carriage door swung open, her weary face fell when she found the only vacancy to be with Bull and Dorian, sitting on opposite sides of the carriage in silence. To the warrior’s credit, she hid her distaste as she took the small opening left on Bull’s side, throwing her bag of supplies on the end of Dorian’s empty seat. She creased her brows at the mage who didn’t appear to have noticed the Seeker joined their party.

Hours later, Cassandra buried herself in a stack of books she’d brought in her bag.  _Cheeks blushed. Heart rate stammering. The smell of arousal_. Bull smiled as Cassandra cleared her throat and adjusted her legs to press her leather-bound thighs together as she read further into the smutty novels she presumed no one knew she read. The Seeker was a woman of many facets she kept hidden, but Bull saw the true romantic lurking inside as much as the woman hid it.  _Breathing becoming faster. Flush over neck. Legs pressed together tighter._

“Good book?” Bull enjoyed giving the Seeker a good ribbing since he was certain she wouldn’t permit him to give her anything else he’d like to.

Cassandra stiffed at his voice, sitting straight up.  _Uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Core throbbing while she pretends to respond in disgust._  “It’s fine.” She spit out at him before slamming the cover of the book shut as the carriage stuttered to a stop on the road.  _Relief. Wants out- away from us_. Bull grinned as the Seeker disappeared out the carriage door before the wheels stopped their forward momentum.

“It appears we have the carriage to ourselves if you could think of some ways to waste time.” He turned to Dorian, but the mage had not heard his innuendo as he continued to stare at the canopy of forests lining both sides of the shoddy road. Bull cleared his throat and Dorian startled out of the state to face his Qunari lover.  _Dark circles under eyes. Slight tremor in hands._

He ran a hand over his weary jaw along the slight growth of a new beard, as he sighed. “I’m sorry… I lost track of time, Bull.”  _Voice tired. Slurred_.

“When are you going to talk about it, Dorian?”  _Flare of anger in eyes. Fist clenched._

“I don't understand what you’re talking about. _I_ _’m great_.” The mage scoffed, throwing the empty bottle onto the floor in frustration where it ricocheted across the painted wooden floor.  _Lies_.

“I don’t know what you’re hiding, Dor, but you need to spit it out to someone before your secrets run too deep.” He resisted the urge to reach out and lay his hands on the mage. “Trust me, whatever your reason, it isn’t worth this kind of madness.”

Bull once stood at the edge of the abyss, looking across its nothingness until he thought no option existed but Qunari re-education. At the last moment, he changed his mind and asked for reassignment. After looking at Dorian’s dead eyes and loss of life, he understood how one found so much sickness within their soul that starting over appeared the only path.

 _Anger. Drunk. Needs to escape._  Dorian jumped to his feet far more graceful than a man who just consumed a cellar full of wine should be able to but stopped with his hand clasped on the handle of the door, his back facing Bull. “Just because we fuck doesn’t mean you have any authority to give me advice. What makes you think I want the opinion of a fucking _Tal-Vashoth dathrasi,_  anyway?”

Bull’s face remained unchanged as the mage swept his way out of the carriage, a flurry of robes swirling behind him. The door of the carriage slammed hard enough the hinges creaked with the effort.

The great Qunari shook his head and followed his lead out the carriage door expecting everyone to be staring after Dorian’s scene, but found the members of the Inquisition too invested in stretching their own sore muscles to pay much heed to the Trevinter’s typical antics as of late. Bull rolled his shoulders with a groan as the muscles loosened throughout his upper body.

Dorian disappeared as the other companions filed out of their similar carriages, appreciative for the chance to get out and move from the frantic pace Evelyn had the drivers pushing the horses.

Out of the next carriage, the apostate elf came meandering out, eyes narrowed in his usual suspicion of everyone around.  _On guard. Hiding. Feels trapped._  Close behind him were Knight-Captain Rylen who seemed in good spirits ( _Smell of lyrium and bourbon, relaxed, but concerned_ ) and the hero herself, Dal. The Templar leaned close to Dal, whispering something in her ear she nodded numbly to before he slid something into the pocket of her jacket. Dal’s dark-tanned skin held a yellow tint. The girl staggered on her feet, her eyes unfocused. _Smell of bile and booze. Heart racing. Fear in her eyes._  

She had been sick as of late but didn’t strike him like the type to get motion sickness or drink herself to excess in the morning, unlike his traveling companion. Dark circles pressed under her lavender eyes and there was a desperation showing on her face she kept hidden from those around her.

The Hero looked over her shoulder and Bull’s eye followed her line of sight to see Evelyn and Cullen emerge from the front carriage. Evelyn moved lithely, her body swaying more feline than human, as she stepped down into the chaos of the emptying carriages. 

 _Smell of sweat and semen, eyes twitching over the huddled masses, anger swelling to the surface._  She paused as she entered the crowd, taking in the surrounding scene instead of ignoring what wasn’t relevant to her. The Inquisitor found herself lost in her thoughts and her attempts to fuck them away on the trip to Halamshiral didn’t appear to help given the look of her very worn out and disheveled Commander. His head a bed of disturbed curls he ran his hands through as he spoke to his captains.

Evelyn made her way to Josephine ( _Nervous. Hesitant. Feels less strong with Blackwall by her side_ ) and appeared to be drilling her adviser on progress as the Spymaster approached the conversation.  _Defensive of Josephine. Thinly veiled dislike of Evelyn. Eyes darting around the crowd until they fall on Dal and she relaxes._  

Feisty redheads were Bull’s cup of tea, except the spy learned after being around these women for minutes that anyone would be insane to get involved with either of them. Sure, they were beautiful. The most dangerous predators always were.

If Evelyn could not close rifts- Bull would never have allowed the Chargers to join the Inquisition. The Inquisitor was selfish. Only looking to improve her own status as the world came crashing down around her. People presumed life as a noble was kind to the woman and she’d never faced adversity in her life until Corypheus’ hand gripped her throat as the fires burned inside Haven.

Bull saw deeper inside the soul of the redhead. There was something dark resting inside the heart of the woman they called the “Herald of Andraste”. Bull wasn’t sure what happened to the woman to cause such anger to live in her since her skills of deception were equal to those of the best spies he’d worked beside.

Sometimes making tough decisions as a leader came down to saving the entire world instead of just collecting gold for another mission. If the breach remained open, there would no world for the Chargers to work in. So, to the Inquisition they came—where they would stay until they saved the world from Corypheus and his followers.

The Inquisitor and her advisers shifted to their focus to the side and Bull groaned as an inebriated Dorian stumbled his way into their conversation. With an unmasked look of disgust, the Spymaster took her leave motioning the Ambassador to follow, while Evelyn quirked a well-shaped brow at her Trevinter cousin as she assessed his current state.

Bull's sense of concern for his lover grew as he continued rambling to the Inquisitor. Dorian was full of secrets—he had been for some time. It was only a matter of time before those secrets spilled out. Bull couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that confessing the tales torturing the man in the late hours of the night to Evelyn would only lead to more trouble for Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	16. The Chapter Where Bull Gives What's Needed- NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has changed and refuses to speak of what's happened. But the Iron Bull can still provide his mage with what he needs. NSFW

Dorian changed the day Idalya arrived back in Thedas.

He awoke to his large nostrils assaulted by the stench of magic permeating the air of Skyhold, no different from the battlefields of Seheron. Dorian was absent from their bed and as Bull walked around Skyhold, he found the residual magic lingered everywhere. 

Few people sensed it, he deduced. Hesitation and fear existed in those who sensed the choking clouds of magic. Solas paced in his rotunda, piles of parchment swept to the floor, elvish words slipping out between his lips.  _Sweat on brow. Heart racing. Indecisive._  

Enchanter Fiona sat in Skyhold’s garden staring at the plots of medicinal herbs she tended during the day, her hands outstretched empty in front of her.  _Regret. Sorrow. Fear. Haunted by her memories._  

It wasn’t until Bull located Dorian hidden in his library nook he knew something terrible happened.  _Dead eyes. Loss of color from face. Dirty hands and grime on leathers._

Bull’s heart pounded within his chest as he dropped to one knee, putting them face to face. Dorian, still unaware of Bull’s presence, stared out across the courtyard through the window until the Qunari slid his hands over his.

Instead of being startled, as Bull expected, the mage’s eyes moved so slow until they faced him. Exhaustion and grief painted his features, and it broke Bull to see the vibrant man so devoid and stricken. A different man than the one Bull held dozing against his chest the night before.

His lover didn’t speak, he stared at him with a pained expression as he remembered how to react. It was the lousiest of times for Bull to realize the depth of his emotions for the mage, but one can seldom plan when they fall in love.

It was only when Bull raised a scarred hand to the mages cheek he saw the guard come up, as the man ripped himself away, burned by his touch. Without a word Dorian rose and left the library. Bull followed behind at an undetectable distance, ashamed to use his _Ben-Hassrath_ training against his love.

He assumed Dorian would gravitate towards Evelyn, but instead Dorian’s numb and labored steps led him to the bathhouse of Skyhold. Once inside, he stripped from his leathers one buckled strap at a time as he on the edge of the copper tub, struggling to lift his legs inside as it filled with water. Bull detected Dorian’s moving mana as he heated the bath until it blistered against his copper skin and the room filled with steam floating through the slat windows, spiraling tendrils through the frigid winter morning in the Frostbacks.

As Bull stood unmoving against the wall outside the washroom, a sound struck him like a lance through the heart—the muffled sounds of Dorian’s cries. Sobs ripped their way out of his shaking body through the hands clasped over his mouth.

Whatever caused Dorian to suffer was something he had no intention of sharing. Bull would have no objections to secrets with someone who was sharing his bed, but this was Dorian, his mage, his love. He was suffering, and Bull felt more helpless than ever. He remained motionless until the sound of Dorian’s heart-wrenching cries died away. The Iron Bull chose the path of cowardice, leaving to take his seat in the Herald’s Rest like he hadn’t just listened to his own heart cry out in pain and confusion.

A few hours and countless ales purchased for him by the Chargers later, Dorian waltzed into the tavern with Evelyn on his arm—the two already on their way to full inebriation. The mage was outspoken and lewd speaking to the Chargers in tune with his normal behavior, but as he turned to speak to Bull it was obvious, his smile reached nowhere near his eyes.  _Pain. Rage. Loss. Confusion_. 

He jumped into Bull’s lap after uttering a joke to the Chargers that had the tavern cackling. Bull knew how fragile he was as he wrapped his thick arms around his mage and hoped his touch told Dorian volumes more than his words would express.

Dorian stayed glued to Bull the rest of the night as the two both drank to forget. Whether an arm touching, or Dorian’s leather buckled thigh set next to his, he stayed connected like Bull was his only remaining lifeline in the world and maybe he was.

Bull saw the streak of stubbornness and denial the mage used in place of confidence when they confronted Dorian’s father in Redcliffe. Even confronting the elder Pavus that wanted to change who Dorian is rattled Dorian less than what transpired in the early hours within Skyhold. Bull let Dorian keep up his appearances pretending he didn't see the pain twisting his soul as the mage threw back drink after drink, pretending to be a whole person.

As the night grew dark, the soldiers filed out of the tavern leaving just a few stragglers, the Inquisitor, and her companions behind. After losing a battle of rock, paper, scissors, Sera and Varric grumbled, each taking an arm of the incoherent mumbling Inquisitor whose feet dragged across the floor more than stepped forward and assisted the woman out the door.

Dorian rose unsteady and staggered his way to the stairs heading towards Bull’s room above the Rest, somehow able to still sway his hips like the rocking of the ocean. He leaned back against the stone wall, focusing his eyes on him before reaching out a smooth hand, beckoning for Bull to follow.  _Need. So much need. Need to feel. Need to not fear._

Without a second thought, Bull was out of his chair and pressing his mage into the wall, his thick horns pushing into the crumbling stone above him. One thick hand slid behind Dorian’s head and threaded into his ebony hair, the other gripped his hip he jerked forward to meet his own. He leaned his head back into Bull’s hand as a moan worked its way up his slender arching throat.

The surge inside Bull surprised him, a flurry of emotions exploding from his need to protect Dorian, his anger at being pushed away, working their way to the surface as his fingers traveled over the bronzed skin of the infuriating creature that dared to shudder against him. The urge to consume was too great, to mark him, possess him, to show him the depth of his anger, love, and fear for him.

“Open your eyes.” Bull’s voice wavered as he fought the violent need to claim this man- _his mage_. 

Dorian opened his eyes, after a deep inhale of breath, to let Bull see what was hiding inside.  _So much aching need. Need to remember. Need to_ _… something._  Bull didn't understand the complexity of what was lying deep within his eyes the color of ash.

“Please…” Dorian whispered as he pulled himself closer to the Qunari, wrapping his arms around Bull’s neck and climbing up his muscular body so that every toned curve of his own was flush against the hulking man.

It took all of Bull’s self-control to hold back the groan that wanted to free itself as Dorian dragged a leather-covered thigh over his thickening erection. The mage displaying his strength as he pulled himself to eye level with his lover. Bull pulled back as Dorian attempted to press his wine scented lips against his own. The mage raised an eyebrow, confusion crossing his features, Bull didn’t need to be a _Ben-Hassrath_ spy to know how thin the ice he and Dorian were standing on was.

“Dorian… we’re drunk,” the words were heavy on his tongue as the air reached a boiling point around them.

“That’s never stopped us before.” The mage leaned forward and whispered against the corner of his lips, the edge of his mustache tickling over Bull’s skin.

Bull had never known a want like this- the need to heal and harm rolled up so tight within himself that every brush of his fingers over Dorian’s skin was pulling him towards a cliff he hadn’t stood at the edge of for many years.

This was what losing control felt like. In his rational mind he knew something was wrong with his mage. He also couldn’t face the prospect he hadn’t protected him from whatever happened or that this might be his fault. He couldn’t let himself hurt Dorian more than he already had been- he would not. He pulled back his body from Dorian, lowering the mage to the floor. The emptiness pressing against his skin excruciating.

“Dor, we need to talk.”  _Panic. Fear. Need help. Need more._

Dorian’s hands were clutching at Bull’s belt to keep him from moving away, his eyes wide with a gauntlet of fear behind them.

“Bull,” his fractured whisper was almost too much for the Qunari to handle. “I can’t…” Pulling Bull closer he laid his cheek against the man’s full chest mumbling. “I can’t do this. Please, I need…” He turned his face into Bull’s chest as hot streaks of tears ran down the Qunari's abdomen. ‘… only you.’ The mage repeated over and over as he shook in massive arms of his lover.

Bull closed his eyes and took deep breaths as he imagined backing away from the edge of that cliff; regaining his control and stepping away from the madness held at the bottom of that crevice. Bull needed to understand what was happening, but Dorian was the priority. The rest of the Inquisition could burn down for all Bull cared if his mage remained safe.

Dorian needed him- he trusted him, was helpless, and needed to feel something not fear. Bull could do that for him. Show him how loved he was; how precious he was even if Bull couldn’t say the words aloud.

Able to slow his breathing and heart rate, he leaned closer to Dorian and placed his lips on the edge of Dorian’s ear. “Go upstairs. Remove your clothes and wait on the bed.”

Dorian shuddered again and nodded into Bull’s chest before stepping away and heading obedient up the stairs with a newfound swagger in the sway of his hips.

Sensing eyes on him, Bull turned to the last remaining patrons and Cabot, the barkeep, staring with jaws slacked open. With an exaggerated shrug, Bull turned and headed up the two flights of stairs remaining until reaching the broken-down room he used in Skyhold, the wooden stairs creaking with each step of his mass.

At the door he paused, eyes closed, the smell of Dorian bare in the next room overtaking his senses as every inch of his body yearned to touch the golden man laid just beyond. This wasn’t about him; this was for Dorian. He needed the ability to fall to pieces in the safety of Bull’s care without judgment or fear. These were things Bull could provide that he wanted to give his mage.

Taking a deep breath, Bull twisted the handle entering the room. Dorian filled the ceiling with twinkling mage lights illuminating the room in cool blue light, bathing his bare skin in the color of the sea. He was laying in the center of the bed unclothed as Bull requested—eyes closed, and cock hardened against his stomach in anticipation of his touch. Bull closed the door behind him, taking slow, deliberate steps to the foot of the bed as he admired the spectacular view.

“What do you want?” Bull’s tone was deep as he assessed all of Dorian’s limbs and saw no bruising or cuts to show injury.

Though they were an asset to the Inquisition, Bull thought of nothing but the Templars when he found Dorian so broken that morning—a proud Trevinter mage in their midst more than enough to incite the anger of a Templar. There was nothing to suggest a physical fight, plus Bull hoped if attacked, Dorian would have come to him, so he could decapitate the attacker joyfully with his bare hands.

Dorian scoffed and opened his grey eyes. “What do you think I want, Bull?”  _Embarrassed. Vulnerable. What if he doesn_ _’t want me?_

“Not tonight, Dor. I need you to tell me what you need.” Bull needed clear consent, anything less and he would sleep elsewhere. He would not cause Dorian to suffer more because the mage couldn’t share what haunted him.

Rounding the side of the bed, Bull rested on the edge next to the mage turned away from him, the bed groaning under his massive weight. He resisted the itch in his fingers to lean forward and trace the length of Dorian’s spine.

“Tell me what you need, Dorian.” His voice was quiet, authoritative.

Dorian turned to face him, and Bull reached out a weary hand he pressed against the mage’s burning cheeks. Running his callused thumb over Dorian’s lower lip, the mage tilted his head back and moaned filling the entire room with warmth.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ” Bull mumbled which earned a dark chuckle from Dorian.

“ _I_ _’ll be the death of you?_ Shouldn’t that be my line? You’re more than twice my size, you beast.” Bull smiled at the lopsided smirk Dorian gave him but waited until Dorian answered his question.

“I need… trust. I… I only trust you Bull,” and with that Bull understood. Dorian needed to hand his trust to someone and to have it given back as freely as given.

After double checking their watchword, Bull reached into a side drawer of his bedside table and pulled out thin lengths of Orlesian rope wound with silk. He tied Dorian’s wrists together, looping the rope through an inconspicuous metal hook hidden in the headboard of the bed to the casual observer. Each leg he caressed between his massaging fingers as he tied knots around the ankle before securing each foot to a separate corner of the foot of the bed spreading Dorian wide to him with a moan.

Last, he took a long length of pure silk he draped over the Dorian’s glittering gray eyes. Running a scarred hand down the mage’s chest, he sighed as he took it the vision Dorian created.

“You are so fucking beautiful.” The confined man arched his back, shuddering under Bull’s feather-light touches, desperate to find something to move his aching cock against. But Bull’s patience would not falter until Dorian had what he needed.

Bull spent the next few hours covering every limb of his mage in kisses, nips of teeth, and gentle caresses until Dorian moaned on the bed, begging like a good boy for his release while Bull told him how spectacular every inch of him tasted. He told him how every sound he pulled from his throat gave him life, how every shudder of ecstasy drove his frantic need of him, how much his compliance pleased Bull. He was a good boy and deserved his reward.

When Bull gave his mage permission for release, Dorian’s cries echoed in the empty room, Bull pressed his teeth down into the man’s neck while feeling him erupt into the palm of his hand until Dorian went limp in form and spirit beneath him.

After soothing the bite with his tongue and soft kisses, Bull took a damp cloth from the basin and cleaned Dorian’s body as he untied one limb after another. Removing the silk strip from Dorian’s eyes, he found the mage asleep. Long dark lashes fanning against his cheek, hair tousled from grinding his head back into the pillows all night.

Bull pulled the covers over Dorian’s bare form and the sleeping mage sighed as he rolled into the warmth of the blanket. Bull sat down on the edge of the bed and groaned under his breath at his now throbbing erection refusing his denial. Unlacing his large breeches, it only took three tight-fisted pumps before he found his own release. After cleaning himself up, he relinquished the rest of his clothes and climbed into bed with the beautiful man who was snoring in his escape into the Fade.

Pulling Dorian against his chest he shook his head as he stared down at the still man. _He was a goner this time_. Bull might have a lot of lovers, but he never let himself move past that into more serious emotions. Dorian had broken down the walls the Qun installed in him. Trevinter mages and Qunari were sworn enemies, but here they proved enemies could be so much more.

“ _Kadan_ ,” he whispered into Dorian’s ear as the mage snuggled closer to push the early morning chill away

Bull awoke alone that morning. Only the lingering smells of sweat, semen, and the cologne Dorian wore, were proof the mage had laid in his bed. Assuming Dorian needed space, he arose as normal, working through training with the Chargers and parts of Cullen’s army. After long days training and dueling then drinking through the entire night until the world hurt less, Bull would flop into bed ignoring the candlelight still illuminating Dorian’s corner of the rotunda through his window.

It took a week for the mage to approach him once again inside the Herald’s Rest. He looked exhausted, deeper circles beneath his eyes. A constant tremor in his hands now existed not unlike Cullen’s lyrium withdrawals, Bull assumed was from constant drinking from the smell of wine permeating from the mage’s skin.

They’d spent the rest of the night keeping up appearances for their friends, until they’d moved to Bull’s room and Dorian would hand over his trust like a velvet-wrapped box Bull would treat as the most precious gift he’d ever received as he commanded his mage who was so eager to please. Bull woke up alone then and every time after Dorian would come to him when his fear became too much to bear alone.

Months passed, and they’d continued this silent duel. Any attempt to speak to Dorian about what happened turned into him berated by the angry mage. Whether due to his proximity to Evelyn or the fact he was a skilled member of the Inquisition, people let Dorian’s downward progression slide like nothing changed in the mage.

The only time Bull saw a change in Dorian around others over their weeks apart was when Idalya would be in his vicinity. Dorian’s eyes would fill with fear and some unreadable emotion to Bull before he would leave and head alone to Skyhold’s wine cellars—which Evelyn instructed be open to her cousin at all times of day.

*****

Bull sighed, leaning backwards against the garish carriage. Dorian remained in the middle of some tangent to Evelyn, annoyance written across her face even for those without spy training. She waved him off as she headed away toward her Commander and Dorian cursed in Trevene as he stumbled on the open ground with nothing to hold himself up.

Bull cursed himself as he headed over to help the man who was too drunk for daylight hours.

He took loud steps in the gravel as he approached Dorian, who tensed by instinct as he heard the Qunari draw closer. His giant hand pressed to the small of the staggering man’s back, the other gripping him by the shoulders.

“Hey Dor- “

“Stop…” Dorian’s voice was weak and foreign to Bull’s ears but touching the mage outside of their weekly meet-ups felt good.

“We should get you back to the carriage, I’ll get you some food and…”

“ _Katoh_.” Bull retracted his hands, the mage’s skin burning him as he stared in shock.

“Dor, I…” he had to be misunderstanding him, _he had to be_.

“No Bull,  _katoh_. I’m done with this, leave me be.” Dorian’s words answered his question clearer than he'd hoped.

It was as Bull feared. Dorian was fighting his way back to surface to breathe but chosen to let himself drown beneath the waters of his fear and guilt instead.

A light and musical laugh broke him out of his shock.

“Well isn’t this just precious?” Evelyn stood in the distance, one hand on her jutting hip, the other holding an uncorked bottle of Antivan Red. “Come Pavus, I’ve had the wine stores brought to my carriage. Let me rescue you from this _mediocrity_.” With a laugh she turned, her hair reminding Bull of the blood-soaked beaches of _Seheron._ The members of the Inquisition filed back into homes for their next long trek towards the Winter Palace.

Dorian let his chin fall against his chest before sighing, never turning back to face Bull. He staggered after Evelyn as Bull watched his  _kadan_  walk away for the final time.


	17. The Chapter Where Idalya Drinks All the Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition is making its way closer to the Winter Palace, but Idalya still struggles with what happened before leaving Skyhold.

The constant jostling of the carriage made Idalya’s still weak stomach ill, bile bouncing the back of her throat with every lurch of the cabin. After falling into the Fade before leaving Skyhold, she’d been awake, afraid of what happened if she entered the Fade. She was a disaster waiting to happen and should not have come with the Inquisition for whatever purpose intended for her.

For three days they traveled at breakneck speed, only pausing when the horses refused to move any further, desperate for food and water. The Inquisition left the Frostbacks behind them in record time.

On a stop to water the horses, she observed Cullen questioning Evelyn in raised whispers behind the train of carriages on what made travel at that speed necessary. Without hesitation, Evelyn threatened him with a forced demotion for questioning her decisions before huffing away, her frustration far greater than Cullen’s inquiry. 

 _Such a spoiled princess_.

Leliana’s scouts and spies guarded the path ahead to make sure the Inquisitor remained safe, but at the speed they traveled, the scouts struggled to keep ahead while the Inquisition ripped through the gravel roads bringing them to the palace.

The second day she overhead Scout Harding and Leliana in a heated exchange after Harding lost two scouts to bandits. Their inability to move undetected through the countryside compromised by rumbling coaches. The consummate professional dwarf kicked a stone into the empty woods with a growl of frustration before slipping back into the shadows to forge ahead for everyone’s safety.

As much as being stuck in the carriage grated on her nerves, getting out during stops provided a similar level of irritation. The drain on her energy from her collapse into the Fade, and refusing to sleep, was taking a toll on the warrior. Every time she exited squinting into the daylight, Varric handed her a flask noting she needed a drink. Rylen continued the mantra as they shared a carriage seat while Solas stared across the cabin in disdain every time her shaking hands tilted the metal back against her mouth, sighing as the burning liquid blotted out the feelings of discontent and fear haunting her.

As the carriages pulled to a stop, Rylen held a triumphant fist in the air. “Praise the Maker," he stood, stretching his neck. He motioned out his hand towards her, waiting. “Hand it over, Doll.”

Idalya raised an eyebrow, then in defiance raised the container to her lips, draining everything left inside before handing it over to the Templar who grumbled in annoyance.

“Oh whatever,” she huffed, “find Varric and tell him to refill that since I’m still in need of that drink he claims I so need.” The Templar shook his head at Idalya before exiting the carriage as Solas glared at her.

“What?” She yelled at him, surprised at the volume of her voice.

“Am I bothering you, sitting here?” His annoyance pronounced in his tone.

“Yes… No.  I don’t know.” She rubbed a weary hand against her forehead before resting her head back against the plush seat. Three days without rest was making the simplest interactions more complicated.

“How long have your memories been causing this?” He moved forward on his seat, his elbows touching his knees.

“This… This was the first time it happened.” Closing her eyes, the images of the visions soared behind her eyelids.

Eyes of the brightest yellow questioning with a strange curiosity and another pair of copper ones caused an ache deep in her chest the longer she held them in her thoughts. Solas remained silent until she continued.

“Before, I was pulled into the dream, surrounded by this overwhelming sensation of everything rushing through me.” She lifted her head and opened her eyes inspecting the elf to find only compassion within the mage’s.

“This time was different. Fractured pieces of memory. Painful, attacking, the images were fighting their way to the surface past something stronger than myself. It frightened me.”

The elf’s frown lines deepened as he listened to her confession. After a long moment of silence, Solas reached into the simple traveling bag he brought on the voyage, pulling out a dust-covered, bound volume he opened wide across his lap and combed over the text, allowing Idalya to fall to pieces in peace on the other side of the carriage.

Her limbs numb, her body choosing to fall asleep on its own, whether the warrior herself rested. She released a sigh as her eyes rolled back in her head as her body relaxed.

The carriage door opened. Sunlight filtered through and burned her eyes, aching from the stimuli while her body tensed at the intrusion on her safe place.

“ _There you are, Kitty._ ” Idalya’s muscles calmed at the sound of Varric’s gruff voice. “A bitter Templar informed me you needed this.”

More on instinct than the ability to see, Idalya caught the metal flask in midair, twice the size she and Rylen shared the past day.

“Try not to drink so much you puke on Chuckles here.  As Dorian can vouch, he doesn’t enjoy it.”

Solas’ eye roll was powerful enough to crash the entire carriage. If she wasn’t inebriated beyond rational thought Idalya would have laughed her way to tears at her mentor’s expression of venom.

Varric leaned out the hinged door. “Hey Squeaky, there’s room in this carriage if you’re looking for a spot.” She cringed at the volume of the echoing dwarf as she curled up into a ball.

“Thanks, Varric,” a voice with the timbre of velvet responded, and Idalya groaned out loud when Knight-Captain Barris’ head came into view.  He stepped up into the carriage, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of their suite.

He motioned to the seat next to Solas, “Is this taken?” The elf shook his head and moved his bag out of the way before shooting Idalya a pointed glance with a raised eyebrow before returning to his book.

He used an awkward hand to rub over his eyes. Barris’ body tensed as he settled into the seat, realizing who occupied the darkened corner of the carriage. His glance moved back to the door as he contemplated sprinting away.

Never had she wished she remained dead as right now.

The Templar, still out of uniform, twitched, uncomfortable without the constant safety of his armor to protect him. He opened his mouth to speak, reassessed the decision, then reached into his bag to pull out a large handful of parchments she assumed were memos from Cullen. Meticulous notes taken into a small leather-bound notebook as he kept his eyes glued to his work.

After minutes passed in silence, Solas closed his book, reaching below his seat for his bag to tuck the volume away before heading to the door.

“Where are you going?” Idalya didn't recognize the slurred voice exiting her body.

“I’m just going to check on something, I’m sure you’ll be safe with your Templar friend here.” The elf paused considering something as he watched Barris’ nervous body language, “While we have a Templar here, rest. Go to sleep, _Asha_ , before I force you to sleep with magic. Do not mistake my threats as idle.”

After Solas exited the carriage, the swinging door closed, the bars of a cage snapping shut around her. She kept her eyes pointed out the window before Barris deciding to broach the subject.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” It was a statement, not a question. She resembled a corpse by this point. Dark circles taking over the plains of her faded and ashen skin.

 _“No_.” the anger carried in her voice startled her.  She swallowed, trying to push the bile back that crept up her throat. “I…” she hesitated, unsure how much to tell this man whose presence set her aflame. Her eyes flicked to his, and the force of his emerald ones caused her to look at the floor, her focus disrupted. “I’m afraid.” She wanted to hide the secrets terrifying her, but someone needed to _know_ the truth.

“I can protect you.” Another statement, with no hint of questioning, came from the Templar, and Dal was becoming overwhelmed with everything within this carriage.

Her hands fumbled with the top of the flask and she sighed, contented when the pressure of the cap gave.  Nostrils twitched at the burning smell of relief contained within the metal receptacle. Her hand shaking, she moved it to her lips and tilted the flask back, body relaxing as the first drops of burning liquor touched her tongue.

The liquid flowed past her dusty-rose lips, Idalya chasing a sense of peace she never found at the bottom. As she pulled her hand back, her breaths coming in shallow gasps while the liquor pushed its way through her limbs, trying to restore the life slipping away while locked within the carriage carrying her to the Orlesian throne.

Emboldened by the half flask of rotgut she just consumed, she locked eyes with the Templar. “That's a pattern, isn't it?”

*****

 _She wasn_ _’t wrong_.

He tensed at her question. Every time danger reared its face near her, he was there, his shield in hand, to step in front of it. She may believe he took his role as a Templar seriously, but the truth was when she was near he never took his eyes off her.

“Or maybe the truth is I bring danger around you, and you should avoid me.” 

 _Maker, what am I saying?_  

The impact of his words bounced around in the cabin until they found a home in the empty spot within his chest fueled by anxiety and fear. The elf watched him, cautious, her lavender-swirled eyes narrowed as she rolled his suggestion over inside her mind. After too long of a pause for the sweating Templar, the side of her lips upturned in a lopsided smirk as she leaned her head against the window, without taking her analyzing gaze from him.

“You’re trouble, huh? The cute ones always are.” She winked at the Templar, who grew warm even without wearing his armor.

He watched the upward movement of her hands as she pressed the flask against her pouting lips, wrapping them around the mouth of the shining silver. She tilted her head back, swallowing the vile smelling liquor. The smell of the fumes filled the cabin, the heat of her words pressing against him. Though it was nothing more than a drunk woman continuing her downward descent, it was the most erotic thing Delrin Barris had seen in his life.

Without his armor, he was helpless. Confined within this cabin staring at the woman of his daily fantasies. She was older than him in the technical sense, but Barris reminded himself she just entered her womanhood at age twenty.

A girl now sitting across the cabin from him, in tight leather breeches hugging the abundant curves of her hips and a sleeveless high-collared tunic that more than hinted at the outline of her shapely breasts. A grin that could crumble the resolve of the most pious Cleric in the Chantry.

In their normal interactions, Idalya kept her eyes focused away from him, but emboldened by drink, the swirls of violet and gray within her eyes were mesmerizing him every moment. He had to stop this now, or within minutes he’d have his trembling fingers sliding through the strands of her hair made of liquid moonlight. His lips against hers coaxing the sounds he yearned to hear from her throat.

Her eyes locked on him as if undressing him, piece by piece, and he knew from that look alone he could bury himself inside her and bury his fear and his inhibitions within her.

 _But he couldn_ _’t_.

She was a terrified girl dulling her fear with every flask available and could not consent to anything between herself and Barris no matter how much both might want it.

What wouldn’t he give to have an Idalya sitting across from him whose veins weren’t thundering with poison? He would crawl on his hands and knees to beg her to let an unworthy man run like hands and lips over every inch of her flesh until he was the god she screamed to for release, the Maker a forgotten relic in her past.

Clearing his throat, he looked away, his eyes trying to find an object to anchor his focus on, to keep it away from the eyes luring him closer as the moments ticked on.

“Why did you join the Inquisition?” Her question took him by surprise. The slurring of her words reinforcing his willpower to keep his itching hands away from her.

“The Inquisition gave me a purpose after my order ended. Recruited as a status symbol for Evelyn’s fledgling Inquisition,” the elf nodded while listening. “Cullen took me under his wing. He told me to never give up fighting or to compromise on what you know is wrong. I’ve been given a second chance to atone for what happened to the Templar, and it’s not one I take for granted.” He flicked his eyes up to meet her lavender ones. “I should have died with my brothers at Therinfall, but the Maker held another path for me. I intend to walk it with no regrets in my heart.”

“Don’t say that, Barris.” Shock filled him when she turned on her seat to reach forward and slide her thin callused hands over his. “Please, don’t say that. You're supposed to be here…” her voice trailed away as she looked at him, her eyes glassy with brewing emotions. “If you had died, you wouldn’t be… I… Barris, I don’t know how you…”

“Delrin.” he interrupted. She raised an eyebrow at him as she waited. “My name is Delrin.” A smile spread across her face and she nodded in understanding.

“Idal...” She started.

“Idalya Mahariel, I know.” He watched her eyes open in surprise before she regained control of her cool exterior.

“How? Did Cullen tell you?”

He scratched at the edge of his overgrown beard. “I grew up in Ferelden, on the north side of Lake Calenhad, north of Kinloch.  I saw you heading to and from the Circle during the Blight.”

The color drained from her face as he finished the words. He had stepped over a line of comfort for her into a subject of uncertainty as she pulled her hands away. Her eyes wide as she processed before looking away with an expression resembling shame.

“You knew who I was the moment I walked into Skyhold.” Her voice was thick with emotion, fingers picking at the nails of her other hand, balled into a fist in her lap.

Willed forward, he slid his large hands over hers this time, separating her fingers to prevent the inadvertent harm she was causing herself. She released a haggard sigh, looking up to meet his eyes.

“My lady, I would recognize you across the Fade, from this life or the next.”

Her lower lip descended downward, leaving her mouth open as her brows rose. She stared in confusion while a fire burned beneath his skin, threatening to break loose and bathe the cabin in flames.

Idalya pressed her lips back together, swallowing before reaching into her jacket and shoving something into Barris’ hand. He investigated his palm to find her flask.

“I’m drunk.” She pronounced out loud, causing a grin to break across Barris’ face. “I’m very drunk.” Idalya corrected as she wobbled, her body swayed with the bouncing of the carriage. “I need to sleep. Will you watch over me?” 

 _I_ _’m not sure I could look anywhere else if I tried_.

“I'll keep you safe,” the words came out sounding confident. Thank the Maker for years of Templar training.

Idalya slid to the middle of the seat before falling backward and landing with a dull _thud_ which caused a giggle to work its way out of his throat before he stopped it.

“Why are you with the Inquisition?” Why did she allow herself to be paraded around as a servant? She was the Hero of Ferelden. A Grey Warden. She was no servant.

“Didn’t you hear? Your Spymaster suffers from extreme separation anxiety and called up her oldest friend to fight more dragons at the first sign of danger.”

A barking laugh escaped Barris, and Idalya chuckled from her prone position.

“That’s why you joined the Inquisition, not why you’ve stayed.”

Idalya stared at the ceiling in silence, contemplating before she shrugged her shoulders. She rolled her head to face Barris, and her exhaustion reflected in her eyes and the purple circles spreading beneath them. She sighed, her lips parting on the exhale.

“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “Maybe I stayed for you…”

_There was no oxygen in the cabin. There can't be because Barris couldn_ _’t breathe._

If his heart beat harder, the force would crack his ribs and explode through his chest. He was a trained warrior of the Chantry, trained to stand up to the most frightening of demons, and an elf destroyed his entire world with one sentence.

She stared back at the ceiling, releasing another sigh as her body relaxed. Barris’ hand flexed into a fist. Solas left behind a worn blanket on his side. He gathered it in his arms and crouched in front of her before placed the blanket over the fading girl, gaining him a hum of approval. As he turned away, her quiet voice stopped him.

“Barris?” He turned back and met her eyes, a cascading universe behind them. “Do you think I’ll remember any of this?”

A soft laugh answered her as he continued to stare into her eyes.

“I'd be surprised if you did.”

“ _Good_.”

Before Barris raised an eyebrow in confusion, a pair of thin hands, far stronger than he expected grabbed him, dragging him forward until his lips pressed against hers. His eyes widened to the point of pain and he pulled back so there was barely contact between them for a moment before his resolve broke and he framed the smooth edges of her face with his hands as he pressed his mouth and soul against her.

A deep sigh worked its way out of her lips as she moved them, agonizingly slow, savoring every second of their touch. Barris kissed enough people in his life to know the power of the first kiss. He was unprepared for the explosion of longing pouring out of both.

It was a kiss that spoke not only of a moment but the possibility of a lifetime. A lifetime stretching and unraveling itself.

With a final sigh, she pulled away, her eyes closed, a swollen smirk on her face as she settled onto the cushion. Running the tips of his fingers over his lower lip in wonder he realized he was wearing a matching grin. Settled into the Fade, Idalya relaxed, and Barris had seen nothing more beautiful in his life. He used his fingers to push the loose strands of hair from her face, then tucked her in tighter amongst the worn linen blanket.

_He was a goner._

Barris hid the torch he carried for the Elven beauty since the first moment he laid eyes on her as she’d traveled to Kinloch. What he felt as a boy watching her was an infatuation, but what he felt towards her now, as a man, was a much deeper, richer emotion pouring its way out of his heart to fill the empty cavity a life dedicated to service left him.

“ _In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied_.” After the words left past his lips, he knew they were true.

Idalya belonged to the Wardens, then to the Inquisition. Her existing was enough for him. She would never belong to him, but the act of loving her filled him with a greater sense of purpose and duty.

For all the grief he gave him, he understood Cullen. Evelyn would never be his, yet Cullen understood that it was the act of loving someone itself that transformed you.

Delrin Barris changed forever as his lips met the Warden’s, but he couldn’t think of a sweeter battle to lose.


	18. The Chapter Where Idalya Finds Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Idalya to deal with the consequences of her method of coping. She hopes Solas can save her from her self-inflicted prison.

A piercing pain ripped through Idalya’s skull before her eyelids fluttered open. With a gasp, her arm flung to guard against rays seeking to penetrate through her sockets. She lowered her protective bar and felt her brows rise.

Night draped the unmoving carriage, her aching bones radiating in the hanging darkness. The Inquisition set out as dawn stretched her arms across the open sky. The effect of her chaotic inebriation was being pulled out of time and placed into another. This time by her own hand.

On the ceiling, the images of Andraste and the Maker painted with a delicate hand filled her vision. The creeping dark altering their visages into ominous demons approaching as Idalya watched. She battled her mind to leave and cling to the first area drenched in light.

It was a secret of which even Solas was unaware. Since returning, the dark frightened her. A terror penetrating deep into her soul. The dark waited for her, its relentless fingers of death reaching out to retrieve its prize, to return her to the darkness where she belonged.

Every day she was envious of the soldiers training around her. They didn’t understand their sprint towards death’s doorstep. Farmers, smiths, children, mercenaries: they walked away from professions and families to put themselves between Thedas and a monster.

Idalya was brave once too.

Now she understood it was ignorance that kept one foot falling in front of another as she marched towards her own destruction, no thought for her own survival. No one understood the emptiness of death awaiting them.

She pulled herself to a sitting position with a grumble. A gasp of pain escaped her lips. A streak of agony ripping through the back of her skull. Her breaths jagged.

The carriage was empty.

Solas waited near a warm fire, a grin of mockery splitting the plains of his pale face. She needed to find the mage before her existence crumbled around her. Every muscle in her body screamed as she placed her feet on the floor and braced them with weight. With a _whoomph_ , she landed hard on the seat below; the impact pushing a groan from her chest. She could fall asleep and call him in the Fade to come heal her. That could work, right?

 _Why did she bother waking up_?

Her head in her hands, she pieced together the memories of the carriage. She remembered setting out, her outburst at Solas for caring if she destroyed herself one sinful sip at a time, Varric speaking to her, making room for… _Oh,_ _sweet Maker_. 

She knew Barris got into the carriage, and that’s where her memory ended. He could be halfway across the country running away from her drunken rantings, she suspected.

With her harsh hands, she rubbed life into her face. As her fingers drifted across her lips, an image popped into her head.  _Soft lips, a pair of rough hands massaging the sides of her face, a sense of sadness that stung_ …

 _“Maker_.” Her hands wove into her hair as the images warmed her body.

Were these memories? Dreams? She knew it could be a trick of the Fade to show her what she most desired.

Her cheeks burned thinking of a Desire demon fighting its way into her dreams. She was an easy target as of late, unable to keep her thoughts out of the gutter when the man was on the other side of a courtyard, much less confined in a moving carriage with her.

She should tell Cullen or Rylen she suspected Desire demons of tempting her. Rylen would torture her for developing feelings for his best friend. Cullen taking her words to heart, so she would never sleep again without a Templar watch.

She was torturing herself, and there was no point. After she found Solas and forced him to heal this nightmare of a hangover, she would find the Templar asking him something Inquisition related and watch his reaction. She wasn’t sure what her feelings for him were, and to just spurt them in a drunken stupor would humiliate her beyond belief.

She wouldn’t know until she was moving outside this blasted carriage.

The strain of moving was exhausting. Pain hammering in her head. She pushed forward until she stood, her fingers digging into the sides of the door frame. Breath coming in hard gasps. Idalya, determined to keep the contents of her stomach within her body, moved in lazy movements, her eyes closed as she pushed the door open.

The chill air escaped around the edges of the swinging door slapped her across the face, and she doubled over as the rich smells of a stew pot and campfire poured past her.

A soldier stationed to the side of the door straightened their posture as the respected warrior wavered in the doorway of the carriage starting to collapse. She blearily assessed the risks of the two stairs to the dirt road. After clearing his throat, the soldier stepped forward, saluting Idalya.

“Ma’am.” He fidgeted in his Inquisition-issued armor, “The Commander stationed me to keep watch over you.” She could sense the judging eyes of the soldier, assessing her condition. “Anything you need, my Lady?”

“Y… yes.” Her voice cracked as she pushed sound through her swollen and aching throat. “Solas, please bring me Solas.” The soldier nodded and left.

Idalya sighed and flopped on the stairs leading out of the carved monstrosity that was her home for more days than she could remember. Her hands pressed hard against the sides of her head, squeezing the pain away. She fought the waves of nausea, the Waking Sea tossing a ship from coast to coast, in the core of her stomach. The sound of pebbles crunching underneath a pair of light moving feet greeted Idalya’s ears, and she sighed as she lifted her head, prepared for the condemnation over her current state.

Her eyes opened to meet a pair of kind hazel eyes, housed within the shell of the dark-complexioned chantry sister. Tight ringlets of brown hair stuck out around the edges of her Chantry robes, a fuzzy halo, framing her face. A woman standing too close for comfort.

“Who in the void are you?” Idalya said.

The sister’s eyes opened in surprise before returning to their calm state.

“I am Sister Dominique, Lady. You needed counsel?” The sister’s face remained unchanged as she stared at Idalya, waiting for participation in a conversation that would never happen.

“The fuck? I told that idiot I needed Solas, and he brings you.” This girl’s only issue was existing in the spot where a bald elf should heal her.

“Yes, my Lady, I’m here to offer solace should you need it.”

“ _Oh, for fuck's sake_ …” Idalya groaned as she wrapped her mangled brain around the idiocy of this moment. “No. Solas. Mage roughly yea tall with no hair and pointy ears?” She could see no sense of recognition on the girl’s face. “The fucking apostate!”

“Ah, yes. I… I am sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ll fetch him.” The woman shuffled away, cringing at her obscenities.

Idalya would have remorse for her treatment of the young sister, but not now. She’d have plenty of time to make amends to the girl, and the Maker himself, though she wasn’t sure where the two of them stood on this whole “revived from the dead” issue she experienced.

Silence crept around her, the quiet chatter of the Inquisition moving further away. She blocked the imaginary demons and wanting hands reaching out to her within the darkness.

She never heard Solas approach but sensed him long before his cool fingers wove through the wild crown of her hair. He pushed the humming of his healing magic through her temples where it throbbed along the harsh angles of her skull. After the heavy magic trickled away, he massaged sides of her head, his fingers laced with ice.

They maintained their silence as Solas healed her, without the condemnation she expected. When she had the courage to open her eyes, she saw Solas’ face etched with a sadness like her own.

“What’s wrong?” How long passed between opening the first flask with Rylen until now? She didn’t trust herself enough to presume she went the whole period without saying something brutal to everyone stuck with her.

“You’re in pain.” It was an acknowledgment of more than her immediate hangover.

Solas lived inside her mind every night. He’d seen the torment awaiting her every time she closed her eyes, knew why she raced to see the bottom of the metal flask. Concerned for her, he held no judgment for how she forgot those empty gaps of herself haunting her every waking moment.

She looked away towards the ground as he continued massaging portions of her skull with ice in silence. “The magic isn’t stable, is it?” She hadn’t dared to form the question within her own mind, nor voice it out loud.

“All magic has its own complications…” he began.

“No, my magic. It’s unstable.”

“ _Stable_ is a subjective term. I’ve seen nothing of this magnitude succeed in all my wanderings through the Fade.” He pulled his fingers from her hair, Idalya sighing at the loss of contact. “But you,” he placed his icy fingers below her rounded chin and tilted her head up towards him, “are one of a kind,  _Asha_. Never forget that. This magic may frighten you, but you are _extraordinary_. You’ve shaped this energy to make something new and fledgling within this world. I will fight to preserve it at all costs.”

Tears from relief and the weight of Solas’ words fought for release from her lavender eyes. She allowed a genuine smile to bloom across her features despite the hurt bellowing within her soul. The sadness on his features transformed back to his traditional sarcastic expression. With an arched eyebrow and a lopsided smirk, he looked at her.

“How was nap time with the hyperventilating Templar?”

With a miserable groan, Idalya collapsed backward onto the floor of the carriage as the mage’s chuckle carried through the empty air, pushing the darkness back inch by inch.

“That well, I see. When you’ve recovered from your mortification, come eat to keep up your strength.” Solas’ chuckles grew quiet as he returned to camp, his bare feet silent on the uneven gravel.

With a heroic effort, she lifted herself to a sitting position. The night’s suffocating effects lessened now since alcohol was no longer threatening to collapse her brain. After a deep yawn and the long stretch of her limbs, she put her feet flat on the ground and stepped onto the lumber blocks forming her legs, impressed with her decent balance. Each foot fell in front of the other as she wove her way through the carriages, following the sounds of distant laughs and the smell of game cooking over a fire.

Around the last bend of carriages, she entered the campfire clearing. Idalya found a few members speckled around the fire. The separations by rank gone, everyone remained sitting in a large circle, broken into small groups sharing stories of past travels and battles.

Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen sat in one corner, laughing over Varric’s tales of Kirkwall hilarity about the self-proclaimed “Warrior of the Maker” Queen Marion Hawke, and her husband the pretentious King Sebastian Vael. Idalya knew little of the Champion of Kirkwall beside what Varric read from “The Tales of the Champion”. She couldn’t rationalize a friend of Varric’s being as obnoxious as her literary counterpart.

Bull and Solas were in the middle of an intense game of chess, both their heads bowed over their respective sides of the board. Bull was at a disadvantage, having Sera passed out asleep and wrapped around his horns like a hammock. The Qunari showed no weakness as he moved a pawn to steal a rook from the Elven mage, who let the faintest impression of a smirk pass his lips. Dal knew it was only a matter of time before Bull would submit to his opponent.

She chose an empty spot on a log occupied by Blackwall, sitting apart from the rest of the energetic groups. He regarded her with a nod as he stared into his bowl of untouched stew. The chantry sister Idalya screeched at approached her with her own bowl. She thanked the girl with the humblest words she could before bringing a large spoonful to her lips and gulping down the hot food. The stew was bland for Idalya’s taste, but she never turned away free food after having spent so many years of her life consumed with the thoughts of where her next meal would appear.

“I swear, somewhere in the tiny print on the Joining, there’s a clause that states Wardens will always be separate from everything around them.” She thought the words in her head and furrowed her eyebrows when she realized she’d spoken them out loud.

Blackwall let out a gruff laugh as he put his spoon in his bowl.

“When you’ve seen the worst things in existence, people sense it and move away for their safety. Can you blame them?” Blackwall put down his bowl and reached into the side of his armor to pull a small leather pouch, which opened to an aged wooden pipe with a small vial of tobacco.

With slow thorough movements, his thick and clumsy fingers packed the pipe before bringing two small rocks out of his pocket; one a deep ebony sparkling in the darkness, the other a brilliant red with orange flecks. As he struck them together, they ignited a tiny flame he used to light the tobacco until it glowed in the receptacle of the pipe.

He brought the mouthpiece to his lips inhaling deep from the chamber, the embers glowing brighter as he pulled the heavy smoke into his lungs. With his mouth round, he exhaled, forming the smoke into rings as it passed over his cracked lips. The intangible circles drifting upward, high above the camp.

Idalya laughed at the ridiculousness of this man entertaining her with shapes of smoke like a child. He didn’t know the irony of her nightmares that were clouds of malformed smoke hiding the truth from her. But she appreciated the effort. He paused, turning to Dal to extend it to her, offering her a chance to partake.

With a smile, she shook her head. “No thanks, that stuff will kill you.”

Blackwall laughed again as he turned back towards the fire, inhaling again from the wooden pipe while Idalya shoveled spoonfuls of cooling stew into her awaiting mouth filling the silence between the two Wardens. Near to Blackwall, she sensed nothing from the Warden. No sense of the taint crawling its way and corrupting his veins. She knew he kept her secret. One perk of being old friends with the Spymaster was it was hard to keep secrets out of her ears.

As the silence stretched between her and Blackwall, it became difficult to entertain any topic besides Barris’ location. “The camp is quiet. Where is everyone?” She kept her voice level, her face blank without emotion.

The Warden arched a knowing brow and chuckled at the dark-skinned girl, visible blush on her cheeks as she avoided eye contact. “The Inquisitor couldn’t take the speed we were moving at, so she took Dorian, Josephine, her Templars and rode to meet the Grand Duke.” Obvious irritation coated the man’s words at the thought of Josephine galloping across Orlais without the protective guard of the Inquisitor.

Idalya contemplated telling him not to worry. Barris and Rylen would die before they saw harm come to the Inquisition’s Ambassador. That wasn’t an outcome she wanted either. She decided silence was the correct path instead of both Wardens focusing on the people they cared for riding unprotected through the night.

“So, none of the Templar stayed?”

Blackwall laughed and nudged her shoulder with his own. “Sorry Dal, he oversaw the party leading Evelyn away. Though he was concerned with leaving you asleep and asked Cullen to station someone to your carriage to ensure your safety.”

The elf radiated multiple shades of flushing magentas and pinks through her face as she absorbed his words. “Oh. That’s very… thoughtful of him.” She responded, lost in the memories of Barris’ hands sliding over her cheekbones as his full lips slid against hers.

“Mhmm… _thoughtful_ isn’t the word I'd use for it.” Blackwall’s eyes glittered in the night, seeing right through the wall Idalya built for protection.

She shook her head as she wrapped her head around everything. “I’m no good at this.”

“No one’s good at this, Dal. Otherwise, there'd be more people in this world.” The Warden joked as Idalya rolled her eyes at his quip.

“I know that. I get so overwhelmed by him I can’t think straight.” She grabbed hold of the edges of her ponytail and curled the tips of the white hair around the dark skin of her fingers. “It’s been so long, I can’t control what I feel. Maybe I need to pick a random soldier and work this sexual frustration out.”

Blackwall choked on the drag of his pipe, smoke escaping through his mouth and rolling out the ends of his nostrils as he beat on his chest with a closed, dirty fist. “Well… I… umm…” the Warden spurted out.

“Oh, Maker’s breath, Blackwall! I’m not talking about you!” Idalya laughed as the ridiculousness of this whole night continued.

Between not remembering her words or what happened with Barris, her misunderstanding with the well-meaning Chantry sister, Solas breaking her with his empathy, and now Blackwall thought she propositioned him. This trip was an odd one for her, and she couldn’t imagine the night could get any stranger.


	19. The Chapter Where Leliana Tells a Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nestled around a campfire, Leliana tells the tale of the battle for Fort Drakon

“… and then Marion turns to Isabella and says, ‘Turns out I didn’t know what _cuckold_ meant,’ and the Hanged Man erupts in laughter.” Varric grinned as he delivered the punch line. A relaxed Cullen snorted, his hand flying over his face in embarrassment as Varric and Leliana doubled over, clutching their sides in pain, as laughter gripped them.

“Okay, now tell the one about Hawke trying to convert the Qunari on the Kirkwall docks.” Cullen got out between gasps. “The look on their faces as she asked if they had accepted the Maker is something I’ll never forget.” Cullen laughed harder as Varric groaned, remembering the insanity of his former leader.

“I’ll get that, Curly. I’ve waited long enough, Nightingale- tell me about the Archdemon! Not a word will end up in a book, I swear, but you can’t hold out on me any longer.”

Leliana’s face paled at the dwarf’s words. Her eyes drifted across camp where Dal laughed with Blackwall. She knew, with her sensitive ears, Dal heard Varric’s words. She sat in silence unable to form an answer.

It was a day Leliana tried to avoid but often ran through the back of her mind. The images haunted her dreams. Dal’s lavender eyes grew curious as she watched Leliana before she nodded in encouragement for her friend to continue.

“I’ve never spoken about it.” She stared into the rolling waves of flames, her mind carrying her far away from Orlais to Denerim. “The streets burned. Darkspawn everywhere. Climbing out of buildings, slaughtering every innocent person in sight.” 

Their screams welcomed her into the Fade every night as her eyes closed. Men, women, children… the Darkspawn destroyed indiscriminately until the streets of the capital flowed with a river of blood. Even with reinforcements, it wasn’t enough to save the citizens of Denerim. That guilt forever changed those who fought within the city that day.

“We couldn’t save those crying for help, so our team pushed further into the heart of the city. After being wounded, the demon landed upon Fort Drakon, where we made our final stand.” The embers of the campfire caught in her nose as the smells of roasting soldiers came to the front of her mind. Her own screams echoing off the stones. Zevran falling beneath the giant cloven foot of the beast, bones crunching under the weight until his agonizing staccato scream turned to silence.

“It was not an easy fight. The Archdemon, even injured, took out our entire army within minutes.” She paused, pulling her hood firmer over the top of her head. “Soon it was our traveling party and few remaining allies left. I remember watching Dal’s body flipped across the battlefield by the tail of the beast. She flew through the sky like she weighed nothing, slamming against a crumbling wall of the fort before collapsing.” 

Leliana thought she was dead on impact. The invincible elf became a broken girl, her charred remains sliding to the ground. She sprinted to her side as Wynne pumped her magic into Zevran’s body. When Dal’s eyes opened in confusion, Leliana praised the Maker for sparing their leader.

“But a Warden is not easily slain by an Archdemon. She jumped to her feet, eyes engulfed with fire. She grabbed any weapon within reach, destroying wave after wave of Darkspawn, between turns flanking the beast.” 

The beast awoke something frightening within Idalya.

The gentleness of her friend melted away within the heat of the Archdemon’s flames, forging a weapon whose sole mission was to destroy the beast at all costs. Her and Alistair both channeled their fear and pain to make them unstoppable, refusing to fall before the demon as they killed the Darkspawn, their blades slicing through the blighted abominations with ease.

“When it appeared the battle was lost, I saw her climb the hide of the beast- maneuvering around the dragon’s scales as she made her way up the spine of the Archdemon.” Leliana shot every arrow in her quiver to keep the path cleared for Idalya, and the rushing swarms of demons from Alistair and Morrigan, who were keeping the dragon’s volatile attention on the ground.

She never forgot the sound exploding out of Alistair’s chest as Dal’s blade sliced into the dragon’s neck. As a Chantry sister, she didn’t understand the price Warden’s paid for fighting an Archdemon, but Alistair knew. The sounds of sorrow echoing out of his chest crippled Leliana in her confusion. 

“On top of the beast, she grabbed her sword, plunging it deep into the neck of the screaming Archdemon- it tried to buck her off, desperate to survive, but she held on before pulling the sword loose and striking the monster one last time, separating its head from its shoulders.” 

The melded screams of Alistair and the demon would haunt her until her dying day. She couldn’t lift her eyes from the Darkspawn, still coming to defend their master to its dying breath, but she knew something was wrong when Alistair ran full steam towards the beast.

“The beast fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Then the dust cleared. There she was, on the ground next to the slain creature. She was so peaceful like she was asleep, but she… wasn’t.” Leliana’s voice broke. 

She pulled Dal into her lap while sobbing, her head tilted back, screaming her words of damnation to the Maker and his cruelty. Wynne’s gentle hands pressed on the back of her shoulders and she slumped forward, her tears washing across Idalya’s soot-smeared face. Morrigan and Zevran held Alistair as he crumbled to pieces, unable to look away from her face, as though if he blinked she would disappear.

Idalya recruited these companions, and here they stood, her witnesses as she exited this world for the next.

They took turns sitting with her, petting her mane of white hair, speaking hushed words as they waited for the remaining army to reach them. After an eternity, the army reinforcements arrived to find their King holding a dead elf in his arms like she slept while he whispered into her ear, her companions surrounding them, fiercely protective as anyone approached.

“We laid her to rest a week later in a formal ceremony in Redcliffe. It was beautiful. So many turned out to show their respects to the Warden who saved Ferelden. She was a legend. A story to become myth over time, but to us, she was so much more.” Leliana wiped at the tears running out of her eyes, annoyed at showing weakness in front of others.

As she continued, a weight pressed against her back. The smell of orange oil wafting to her nostrils as a rough hand with thin fingers threaded between hers she squeezed with her own.

Alistair carried her body himself to the castle, unwilling to let her go, knowing it was the last time he would touch her. He headed to the Chantry chapel, setting her limp body on the stretch of the altar before a taking a knee in front of her.

There, Alistair, Leliana, Zevran, Morrigan, Oghren, Sten, and Wynne sat vigil in the candle-lit Chantry for two days, until it was time for her final journey to Redcliffe. The women and Zevran accompanied her to her final resting place, but the new King could not follow. Leliana’s heart broke as she watched Alistair’s eyes become desperate as the clerics came in to wash and wrap Idalya’s linens for transport.

“Wait.” He stopped them as the clerics carried her out.

From the pocket of his golden breastplate, he pulled something small attached to a silver chain. He fumbled with the object between his numb fingers before Morrigan came to him and took the object with his permission.

It was his mother’s locket.

Alistair fitted the locket with a likeness of a griffon before giving it as a token of his devotion to Idalya months ago. Morrigan saw the broken clasp, reaching out her hand to cast a minor spell that fused the edges of the silver together. When she reached the wrapped bundle, she loosened the cloth around her face and held back her own sobs as she secured the locket around Idalya’s neck.

The four companions traveled by her side, Morrigan keeping the Warden’s body chilled until they arrived at Redcliffe where the clerics took her for final preparations. Leliana chose a deep sapphire dress with silver stitching for the ceremony. Idalya’s sword was placed by her side as she was surrounded by thousands of blue and white flowers, a patchwork of their grief spread across Redcliffe for all to see.

The King and his future Queen arrived the morning of the ceremony, and the ruddy-cheeked, blushing and bashful former-Templar no longer existed. Frigid eyes peered out of his skull as his expression remained blank, even as he eulogized his “fellow warden”. Idalya’s companions allowed him his space to grieve, even as they knew she wore the only memento he owned from his lost mother- another woman lost to Alistair too soon.

The official royal wedding was within a fortnight, by order of Anora, claimed the gossip traveling through the crowd. She wanted the wedding over with to not only give their people something hopeful to look forward to but to mend the damage caused by her father’s coup of Ferelden.

Leliana heard Alistair’s coronation, and the wedding that followed was beautiful. None of Idalya’s companions attended the festivities.

It was only after working for the Divine that Leliana discovered Alistair transported Idalya’s body back to Denerim in secret, her body laid next to his own spot in the royal crypts. Bucking the Warden tradition of burying her at Weisshaupt. He hardened to the rest of Thedas, but Leliana knew his every heartbeat called for the person who would never respond again.

Her eyes came back into focus as the fires continued to lap at the night. Leliana realized she’d fallen silent, lost within the thoughts she kept locked out of her mind. Dal’s hand held hers as the elf curled up against her back, and Leliana broke again knowing she could watch her best friend crumple at the foot of an Archdemon once more.

Cullen and Varric watched in silence, the camp focused on her and story.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered gripping Dal’s fingers. “There should have been another way. It should have been someone else. I’m so, so sorry, Dal.” The elf’s other arm wrapped around her torso and held the rogue as she crumbled in the safety of her treasured leader’s arms.


	20. There Chapter Where We Enter the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and her Templar ride to Grand Duke Gaspard's villa, but what awaits them when they arrive?

When Leopold entered the dining room to change out the tea service for his room full of Orlesian loyalists, Grand Duke Gaspard knew his insurance policy had arrived. The elf’s head pointed towards the plush carpet, his large brown eyes with a golden sheen never looking up from their duties. His presence alone was a signal for the Grand Duke to leave.

With a scarred sword hand, he lifted his crystal goblet of wine. The Grand Duke stood, toasting his supporters on the eve of the peace talks. Celene weaseled out of his grasp one time after another. This time she would sit at a table of peers and listen to sanity. To argue her case why she should stay leader of their empire while towns burned to the ground as the mages and Templar swept through the charred hills of Orlais.

Gaspard could not argue that Celene’s focus on culture and education over her twenty-year reign had not made Orlais the pinnacle of civilized society in Thedas. But outside her protective palace, there was a war raging his cousin was in over her head to resolve.

As his allies rose from their seats to raise their glasses in an early celebration, Gaspard reveled at the moment he’d waited for his entire life. The throne was his heart’s desire since he was a child and by the end of this week, he would lead the greatest country in Thedas. He beamed a natural smile below his golden mask, politely met and returned by his guests. Even after spending his entire life in Orlais, he could never follow the rules of the Game like Celene.

Mastery of words wouldn’t keep Celene on her golden throne any longer.

Gaspard waited while his supporters were lead out to their elaborate wooden carriages awaiting their nobles to return home for the coming ball. He kissed his sister Florianne, ever his supporter and cheerleader, on the forehead as she retired to her chambers for the night. There was a frigid bite to the air that night and the breeze chilled the golden mask on his face as he stood in the front doorway of the villa. The line of carriages became smaller in the distance of the growing darkness. When he felt assured any witnesses had departed, he closed the door and entered the hallways now in utter chaos after the farewells from their visitors.

Servants rushed across the hallway as Gaspard made his way towards the drawing room hidden towards the back of the winter villa. With a wry grin, he chuckled as the elves carried serving trays larger than themselves towards the dining rooms to prepare for the Inquisition within the fortnight.

It was a risk to align himself and his allies with the Inquisition by inviting them as a neutral guest in the peace talks. It was a risk that could pay off if Gaspard could convince the established organization into backing his petition for the throne.

 Members of the Inquisition’s cabinet included both the former left and right hands of Divine Justinia. The Chantry separated themselves from the Inquisition when it was struggling to get off the ground. The support of the hands of the Divine and the Herald of Andraste could only boost Gaspard’s chances of proving his worth to the council.

As he walked through the bustling servants, Leopold fell into line with Gaspard, his suspicious almond-shaped eyes never leaving the lines of Elven servants as they stepped out of Gaspard’s way, their faces and glances pointed at the ground. Never in his years had Gaspard thought he would appoint an elven servant as the spymaster within his home.

After seeing the benefits Celene received from her handmaiden Briala, who now controlled the eluvians throughout Thedas. It was only natural to promote, the hardworking and honest to a fault, Leopold to his point man for information. Gaspard himself hoped to one day control said eluvians. Travel between the mirrors was impossible for anyone, not Elven, and Gaspard needed an elf he trusted to run missions.

Towards the rear of the villa, no servants were in transit. Gaspard stopped in the middle of the long hallway. Bookcases lined one side, the moonlight streaming through the stain glass windows portraying the life of Andraste on the other.

“He arrived early, and I escorted him to the back room. He claims to come alone. Surrounding areas are scanned, and I believe he tells the truth.” Leopold’s voice was much deeper, gruffer than expected from the small thin frame of a  _rabbit_.

Gaspard nodded at the elf’s assessment before continuing to walk, Leopold remaining behind as the Grand Duke approached the back office he used when he needed a moment of silence. At the wooden doors rising to the ceiling, carvings of Andraste inlaid, the chevalier paused as he considered how his coming decisions reflected the code of chevaliers he lived his life by.

Dishonesty was not allowed, but tactics were. His critics viewed Gaspard’s attempted overthrow of the Empress at Halamshiral as dishonest, but his plan was tactics. Gaspard forced Celene’s hand as she torched the Elven uprising in the slums and knew her tired army approached the Winter Palace and would fail to protect their Empress. He was a strategist at heart and outplayed Celene on every detail. Yet he’d let the woman and her former champion slip away as the fires of the alienage continued to burn filling the night sky with smoke and a reflected orange flickering light.

With a firm hand, Gaspard pulled the doors open and entered with confidence into the room as the doors swung shut behind him. The walls were vermilion and decorated with the mounted trophies from his many wild hunts over the years. A towering and wide man that could fill a doorframe, stood stoically in the middle of the room dressed in makeshift leather armor with a polished, plain silver broadsword strapped to his side. Rust colored hair fell over parts of his eyes and hid the man’s noticeable Ferelden features.

“I see you’ve accepted my offer.” Gaspard strolled past the man, taking a seat in the plush leather chair at his desk while pulling a decanter out of the bottom drawer with two crystal glasses.

The man huffed. “Just because I didn’t grow up in Orlais doesn’t mean I don’t understand the Game. If I didn’t accept your offer, my men and I would be dead before sunrise by the hand of your chevaliers. I have no choice.”

Gaspard shrugged, pouring the copper liquid into a glass he offered to the mercenary captain who refused. “You’d do the same in my position, I’d wager. A man always has a choice when he can die with honor.” As he drained his glass, he noticed the mercenary stared at him with contempt, but his body language relaxed. The man would help him with his plans and carry them out without question. “Let us talk payment…”

“What point is there to discussing payment? Won’t you have us slaughtered the minute our mission is complete to dispose of evidence?” The captain asked incredulous regarding his intentions.

Gaspard's eyebrows pressed together in offense at the man’s accusation. “On my honor as a chevalier, I swear no harm will come to you by my hand. When I ascend to the throne, I will need trustworthy men willing to follow orders to keep Orlais the greatest country in the world. As you know most of the Game happens behind closed doors in meetings similar to this. So, whatever your standard payment is, I will pay extra to convince you my orders are the only ones you should consider.”

The mercenary’s eyebrows raised as he listened to the Grand Duke’s speech. After a few moments, he nodded. “Agreed. We will carry out the plans as you have outlined them, sir.”

Gaspard broke out into a true grin this time crinkling the aged skin around his eyes hidden behind his mask. “Excellent! One last thing…” The Duke tipped up his glass draining the last of the burning liquid before giving the captain a sly grin. “If you’re caught, tell the guards you were hired by Arl Teagan Guerrin.”

 

*****

 

As the night blanketed the fields of Orlais, Briala arrived exhausted to a tall golden mirror hidden in the basement of an abandoned winter home. Her hand rested flat against the glass, she whispered, “ _Fen_ _’Harel enansal_ ” and the glass turned to a bluish-purple liquid throbbing, a wavering heartbeat, as she passed through the eluvian.

The paths lit up, their runes spurred to life sensing her entrance. Inside the door, she found her canvas bag with a change of clothes and a larger set of distinctive Silverite daggers too distinctive to carry around when she needed information.

Out of her plain servant’s dress and into her smooth Elven leather armor helped Briala become herself. Even though she’d worn a servant’s uniform her entire life before gaining possession of the eluvians. The longer she lived away from Celene’s home, the stranger it was to dress in the uniform she wore in her earliest memories. After stowing away any evidence of her links to Orlais, Briala grabbed her pack and jogged over the rune-lit path now energized within the elves domain.

Though she cleared distance fast, minutes became days as the time within the eluvian passed with a different perception than the outside world. An empty clearing with a canvas tent appeared ahead, Briala slowed to a casual speed as she approached the remaining distance to her hidden camp. She had never run into anyone unexpected within this place. She still used her senses for her own safety for the day she did or if something ancient awakened like her first trip here.

Briala dropped her bag as she flopped on a blanket next to a fire pit she built by hand. Her fingers shivered as the freezing chill of Orlais lingered within her bones as she struck the flints together to start a fire. After many attempts, the kindling lit, a fire taking root in the dried sticks Briala transported earlier in the week from a dry desert climate she found she hypothesized was somewhere in Trevinter.

After removing her provisions of food out of her bag, Briala sighed, a sound that echoed off the surrounding emptiness. She was in Orlais for days straight to discover the information available for the coming peace talks this weekend. The network of spies Briala established after her falling out with the Empress brought together information from nobles attending the upcoming ball. Her book of notes bulged from the information gathered. She'd spend hours looking at it to find the one piece of information that didn't fit, pointing her toward those who sought to derail the talks before they started.

 _These talks needed to happen_. The future of the elves in Orlais balanced on the outcome of these talks. Briala fought to make sure the elves came out of the talks with the best chance of a future. Which leader running the country depended on who stood against their constituents and said they supported the elves and their demands for equal treatment.

If neither Gaspard nor Celene pledged their support, then Briala had contingency plans in place for who brought the elves into their next golden era.

Her hands warmed by the fire as she let her muscles release their tension. It was so infrequent that she allowed herself a moment to relax and let her mind empty of everything weighing on her shoulders for one precious moment. Before their separation, that moment for Briala was laying within Celene’s arms hours after devouring each other.

It was the only time she’d slept and felt truly safe in her life, even though the danger of her being caught as the lover of the Empress always existed. On the worst nights, she awoke alone in her tent, the smell of Celene’s perfume still in her nostrils, the phantom warmth of her body burning its image into her skin. Those were the nights she allowed herself to grieve the loss of her love, at the lies Celene built their love around, the deceptions Celene accepted the consequences of on her rise to power.

She loved Celene since she’d been a girl, devoting her entire life to the woman and her empire only to learn Celene’s rise to power fueled by the vicious spilled blood of her Elven parents. Her love murdered her parents to eliminate witnesses and garner sympathy among pitiful nobles. They assumed Celene too weak of a girl, after the death of her parents, to orchestrate a plan that caused the death of the Emperor. She secured her ultimate rise to the throne over her cousin Gaspard, the natural successor.

Briala knew there was nothing Celene was not capable of in securing her throne.

Even though her anger still clouded her feelings towards the Empress, Briala couldn’t help, but yearn for the woman who occupied her heart her entire life. Despite the lies she knew Celene told her, Briala never once questioned the affection the woman swore to her. Celene cared for her regardless of her being an elf, she believed Celene when she said she wanted the elves to have more than they had in Orlais. She knew the push back and anarchy that would happen within the country if the elves received the rights they deserved.

Briala believed Celene only cared for two things: Orlais and her. As much as Celene cared for her, she knew without question Celene would do whatever it took to keep Orlais out of Gaspard’s hands. The hands itching with the violent need to declare war on Ferelden and reestablish the Orlesian empire he felt the world deserved.

Her stomach ached with hunger, but she couldn’t force herself to shove any of the dried meat or bread in her mouth. She crawled into her makeshift tent. Sleep was needed before she could read over each line of her notes with a critical eye. This was not a situation where she could afford to make a mistake, missing a piece of information to help her maneuver herself in the Game, so she could secure the gains the city elves of Orlais earned with their blood, sweat, and tears.

Her head rested on the small stolen Orlesian pillow. She forced her muscles to relax and mind to drift forward into the Fade. Her eyes fluttered closed as she heard the voice that always whispered in her ear the second her guard was down: “… _I will take joy in my love finding her people, even as my breast aches with every heartbeat I live without you_.” She could see Celene’s battered face as she uttered those words- the heartbreak shouting from her eyes as she reeled from Briala’s unexpected deception.

“As does mine,” Briala mumbled into her pillow as the Fade carried her far away from her lingering pain. 

 

*****

_Someone_ _’s here_.

Briala’s eyes snapped open, aware of something moving within the space between the eluvians. Her daggers were in hand as she exited her tent in a defensive position. She'd spotted no one unexpected in the lands behind the mirrors, but Briala remembered how she gained access to the eluvians and didn’t presume Imsheal was the only creature who existed before the age of man, who knew a way to access the ancient passages.

Her eyes adjusted to the light and found a figure in a dark cloak, hood over their head approaching her, loud steps, to make their presence known. She replaced her daggers into her belt, approaching the thin person who floated on air as they traveled the rune enchanted path.

“Sorry for the intrusion.” The elf gave a slight bow to Briala, she relaxed at the elf’s Orlesian accent.

“What’s happened?” she knew for a member of her network to come into the eluvians meant something demanded her attention outside the mirrors.

“The timeline is moving ahead- Inquisition forces approach the Grand Duke’s villa in the late hours of the night.”

“Confirmed?”  _This can_ _’t be right_. A headache pounded in the back of Briala’s skull from the lack of food she consumed in the last few days. The Inquisition’s early arrival was considered gossip-worthy rude by the rules of the Game.

“Yes, a dream walker informed those with direct contact with you that the Inquisitor, accompanied by a squadron of Templars, approaches the villa. They’ll arrive soon.” The elf kept his face pointed towards the floor, the hood obscuring the top of his features. Years of hiding behind masks made one nervous to bear their true face in public.

“What was the name of the elf who informed you?”

 _Could it be Felassan_?

Her Dalish mentor had been silent since Briala gained access to the eluvians. She presumed he was off with his clan preparing for what the future held, but the longer the silence became, the more her worries grew.

The elf shook his head. “No name, no memory of their face. A voice of warning insisting you prepare.” With a more pronounced bow, the elf turned and walked away, the path making him fly over the routes until he vanished from her vision.

The Inquisitor was arriving early. This couldn’t be a random coincidence.

To travel alone through the Orlesian countryside while a civil war raged was dangerous. The fact she had the nerve to travel without her army spoke volumes of what Briala could expect from the Herald of Andraste than any expression she read from the woman’s pale Free Marcher features.

She pulled her notebook of information out and a dinner roll, now stale from the air. She needed to go over every detail and she needed to do it fast.

 *****

 As the heavy door shut behind her, Florianne exhaled, her shoulders falling from their prideful position.

The week was a tiring parade of meetings with one supporter of Gaspard’s after another as the peace talks loomed in the distance. Peace talks? What a joke. No peace would result from these talks, regardless of the victor. Gaspard hungered for the spilling of Ferelden blood, Celene hanging her brother from the gallows as a traitor if she kept her throne, and the knife-eared “ambassador” threatened riots if the elves requests for more rights were denied.

With solid strides, Florianne crossed the room to her mahogany-carved vanity that filled an entire red velvet covered wall of her room. She sat on the plush stool, reaching up to pull her golden mask off in annoyance, sending it toppling to the wooden tabletop. Her fingers were careful to remove the pins from the back of her platinum-blond hair. She sighed and massaged her scalp as she pulled herself back together.

She'd sung Gaspard’s graces in public for the past few months. Each time sanding away at her soul. Gaspard had always been an overpowered idiot with a sword whose main qualification for gaining the throne was the act of being born. Their mother did everything in her power to assure her son became Emperor, even naming her own daughter to gain attention.

Mother never imagined Gaspard had any future than becoming Emperor, leaving Gaspard without the skills to cope with the shocking event of her cousin’s nomination to the throne. For the past two decades, she watched her brother take on the mantra that his throne was stolen away, and no one would prevent him from reclaiming it.

Gaspard shouldn’t plan a private salon much less lead Orlais. His only response to obstacles standing in his way was to hit it with the largest stick at his disposal. The attack on Celene’s life after Halamshiral occurred in the open with her army surrounding her. Anyone half versed in the Game knew the proper methods to dispose of royalty were up close and personal. _Poison, assassins, information_ … there were a million ways Gaspard could have attempted to take Celene’s throne and been successful rather than attacking her army in the open. But that was Gaspard and the infuriating code he lived by.

The Inquisition rode to Orlais to sway nobles to his side. Neither she nor Gaspard had an interest in the Inquisitor, nor her organization, other than their army strengthened by the remainder of the Chantry’s Templar Order. Florianne scanned through reports of the attack on Haven as they arrived in Val Royeux months ago.

The Inquisitor and her army were impressive to stand against a Trevinter magister, an army of Venatori mages, and red lyrium affected Templar. Though they lost Haven to an avalanche of snow, the Herald of Andraste rose from the ashes of the burning buildings to live another day and live forever in the legends of Thedas.

In the Intel for the Inquisitor, Florianne found nothing extraordinary in her history other than the Herald, regarded as immensely stunning, was still unmarried as she neared her thirties. The Trevelyans were successful, but not rich. Most of their wealth secured through trades with Free Marcher noble families and the successful marriages of Evelyn’s older brothers.

Evelyn’s personal history remained as boring as every noble woman’s until, out of nowhere, her father sent her to the Conclave as an ambassador for their family. While there the Maker _chose_ her to stand against the coming evil. A former spoiled noble now with her own army to march behind her? Florianne seethed at the thought of having to entertain this gregarious woman and her entourage of Ferelden dog fighters in their home.

Her fingers reached into one of the vanity drawers, they dragged along the grains of wood until locating the edge of a lever. The latch clicked under her fingers as the drawer popped open and a small inner compartment slid out containing a thin piece of stone the length of her forearm. The surface covered in engraved runes. After placing it on the top of the vanity, she prepared herself with steady breaths.

Her unblemished fingers drifted towards the stone, she paused, her digits dangling above the artifact calling to her. Energy pulsed out of the runes as her fingers made contact. Her mind rushing open to a hurricane filling her senses.

 _“Florianne_ …” the deep voice placed the words within her head. “ _what is your status?_ ” Within the speaking stone, there were no lies, no Game, only the truth- _the truth to set Orlais free_.

“Everything is as you wish. My brother hired the mercenaries as you suspected. It will be easy to tip off the Inquisition that Gaspard is trying to derail the talks.” Florianne didn’t phrase or think the words, they appeared when she touched the stone.

The Venatori gave Florianne something no one in Orlais ever had- a chance. She was no less qualified to be a leader than her brother. Gaspard and Celene spent last two decades squabbling over which would lead Orlais without considering that the correct person to run the Game was right here.

“ _Excellent, the assassins are moving into place and await your orders. For Corypheus and the Venatori!_ ”

The voice faded away. She was alone once again in her cage of luxury. Only a few more days to pretend to smile and continue playing their game before Florianne got the power she desired. After Corypheus rose to rule Thedas, Florianne would own Orlais as the magister remade the world. She'd win the Game without Gaspard or her conniving mother’s useless help.

This was Orlais’ chance to lead the new world order as Florianne rode the front of the wave from the golden throne itself.


	21. The Chapter Where We Meet the Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning* NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware of the story tags and warnings.

“Rise and shine!”

The covers lifted off her legs as another servant threw open the velvet curtains, spilling daylight into her chambers. With a smile, the girl stretched her arms above her head, sighing as each vertebra popped and released its tension. Helen, her handmaiden, hummed as she poured a fresh cup of tea for her mistress from the porcelain set seated to the girl’s left. She propped herself up on an arm still coated in sleep, as a massive yawn erupted from her thin frame, both servants giggled at their mistress’ playful nature that morning.

“Someone appears in bright spirits.” Helen mused as she collected the blankets from the bottom of the four-poster bed, her heavy Starkhaven accent melodic. “Though I suppose it isn’t every day a Lady turns seventeen.”

The girl squealed and jumped out of bed, grabbing Helen by her wrists. “Please tell me, dear Helen, do you know what my father got me for my birthday?” Helen laughed, removing the girl’s porcelain hands from hers.

“Ay lass, I’m but a servant and am not informed of important dealins in your family.” There was a twinkle in her eye as she finished, and the girl groaned, her chin falling forward to her chest.

Helen gestured the girl towards her enormous vanity where her fresh cup of tea rested, and a beautiful white chiffon gown for her presentation ball that night.

The girl sat on the cushioned stool as a team of servants poured into the room, half cleaning her bed from rest, the other half to prepare her for guests. A waif-like girl approached her from behind with a brush in her hand and worked the bristles through the multiple tangles in her waist-length, fiery auburn hair.

As she sipped her tea, a hardy morning blend, she reached to pick up the notated list her father left her on the families attending the ball and the details she was to memorize about each one. He also supplied a list of conversation topics for her to limit her conversation to, and what family business dealings she was to omit.

Most of the topics covered a recent warm stretch of weather occupying the Free Marches or the newest breeds of horses her family gained from their renowned stables. The Blight and political unrest in Ferelden topped her barred subjects.

A Ladies mind were not meant for politics, her father always told her. A woman was unattractive to young men if she held too many opinions different from her future husband. The girl listened and keep her mind away from subjects her father deemed unfavorable to the other sex, and so far, she was successful. At her ball tonight there would be a handful of families bringing their heirs to see her unveiling. The girl hoped she showed she could be a considerate wife who knew how to follow the rules of the Game.

The waif servant, pleased with removing the knots from her hair, called to Helen, who came over and separated the girl’s hair into strands and braided the pieces around her head, pulling tight against her scalp. Only preoccupied with herself, the girl squinted at her reflection to see if she looked any older. After inspecting every feature- her porcelain skin, her angled cheekbones, her plump rose lips, and rounded chin, she found everything the same.

She noted the shape and color of her eyes with pride: almond-shaped eyes, of the palest green, thick dark lashes surrounding them. They were her father’s eyes, identical in color and structure. She watched them move in the mirror. The outsides lined in the deepest brown fading into the pools of olive green as Helen continued to braid intricate designs into the back of her head.

Her hair finished, a team of servants swooped in with brushes and tubs of makeup, proceeding to paint her face until the greens of her eyes popped across a room, a natural blush painted across the apples of her cheeks, and her lips coated in the deepest red lipstick she had ever seen.

As she rose to her feet, the servants motioned for the girl to place her hands above her head, and four women surrounded her in a circle. Two tightened her corset while the others lifted the white dress over her head. She remained still as the servants pulled the smooth fabric over her body until it rested into place around her trim waist, fanning out in all directions like a princess from a storybook.

The thin servant appeared behind her, draping a shoulder cape of matching soft material over her shoulders. The servants nodded in unison at the vision she made, proud of their work. She spun, her dress orbiting around her, as she headed towards the door to the hallway, floating on air. She remembered exiting the door before she stood at the entrance to the ball.

Each family announced in line before entering, and she would be last since this was her presentation. Time swirled around her in a mass of sound before she saw her father waiting at the doors with a toothy grin and his hand outstretched. She placed her trusting hand in his and moved into the spotlight. The room focused on her as they hushed to a murmur.

“Now presenting Lord Trevelyan and the Lady Evelyn Trevelyan.” A polite clap worked its way out of the crowd through hushed whispers as they walked to the middle of the landing.

“Thank you, everyone, for attending.” Her father’s Free Marcher accent boomed along the walls as he projected his voice. “This is an important day for our family, as my only daughter has reached womanhood. If her mother were still alive, I know she would be proud of our Evelyn.” The room’s applause grew louder, and her father stepped away to engage families on one side of the long room while the girl went to other side and her brothers mingled amongst families throughout the ballroom.

The night moved like a dream as she passed from one set of warm dancing arms to another until she staggered lightheaded from the spinning.

By the end of the night, most families left to return to their Free March estates, leaving just business partners of her father’s and close family friends. As the girl leaned on a wall at the side of the dance floor to catch her breath, a flute of champagne in hand, a throat cleared behind her. A servant awaited her attention.

“Lady Trevelyan, your father expects you in his study for business.” The girl acknowledged the servant before he left on his next errand.

She turned, her skirts gliding around her, and made her apologies to the next in line for a chance at her graces. Her heels traveled with haste towards her father’s drawing room, where he retired to smoke pipes and drink scotch with old friends after these sorts of festivities. She’d never entered these meetings before, but it could be part of her new adult responsibilities.

Arriving at the door, she rapped against the thick wood which echoed in the empty hallway, until the servant who informed her earlier opened it, showing her in. Her father seated behind his large desk, a full glass of thick amber liquid in his hand, three older men seated in the plush chairs her father furnished his office with. She was hyper-aware of the sets of eyes observing her in a way they hadn’t when presented to the crowd.

“Come forward, Ev.” Her father motioned, and she walked into the room with hesitation, to hide her sudden nervousness with each solid step. When she was ten feet from his desk, her father motioned for her to stop with his hand, his chunky fingers twitching, and she stilled, unmoving as the men in the room continued to stare.

“So, gentlemen, these are the terms: ten thousand gold per night, unless you have a trade to offer. No bruises, no marks, nothing to harm her maidenhead, but other than that, I leave it between you and your Maker, you sick fucks," Her father said with a laugh, as the other men chuckled.

She couldn’t swallow. Her throat so dry the act of breathing made her lungs squeal. Beads of sweat broke across the top of her forehead and the back of her neck as she became lightheaded. This had to be a misunderstanding. This was her father. Her only parent. They were never close, but no father would consider doing this to their only daughter…

His words as he dropped off the lists to her last night echoed back into her empty mind, ‘It’s time you can help the Trevelyan family.’ She was proud when she heard those words, thinking they meant her securing her a marriage to boost the family’s status at the ball. 

She was confused about what was happening. She had to be. If she wasn’t, then she was nothing more than one of her father’s prize horses being put up on the auction block.

What would they do next? Check her teeth, examine the long lines of her form, look under her skirts? She had the giddy thought perhaps she should prance about the room, showing them what fine trotting skills, she had, to toss her silky mane so they could see her careful breeding. The giddiness turned into a fissure of terror working its way through her chest, and the girl bit down a cry trying to escape her throat. 

She thought to call out for help but knew no one would come to save her in her father’s house. _She couldn_ _’t breathe_. Her stays kept her lungs from expanding, and as her heart beat faster, less oxygen made it into her limbs. Her legs shook beneath the many layers of now sweltering material.

The man sitting closest to her father, with a mop of thick white greasy hair and matching handlebar mustache, stroked his chin with one hand before licking his lips. He turned to her father without breaking his sight from her. His hollow cheeks seemed to flutter as the muscles along his jaw rippled, tensing as he clenched against a smile she could feel in his predatory gaze but find no trace of across his mouth.  She was among wolves, and this man, with his starving eyes and sunken skin, had the look of a scoundrel on the hunt long before she heard its howling in the woods. He was hunting, and he was hungry.

“Twenty thousand for tonight.” Her father burst into laughter before reaching over and shaking the man’s hand as he looked the girl up and down. Pleased with his purchase.

“Well gentlemen, it appears we must take our negotiations elsewhere for the night.”

Her father and the three men rose to their feet, and the two strangers exited the room before her father came to her. Leaning forward, he whispered, his mustache grazing her skin. “Do what the man says Ev, or I’ll beat you until you wish you died with your mother.” With a smile, he patted her on the shoulder and exited the room, leaving her behind with the greasy-haired monster whose dubious grin matched her father’s. Though her father shut the door quietly behind him, it was an explosion of thunder bursting across her eardrums, causing her to jump.

As she watched, the man approached her, the hunter closing on his prey. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself before she passed out.

This was a story. This was all a bad dream. She was the girl lost in the woods, wearing a hood of red against the cold and the shadows, against the things wearing the faces of the people she once loved. 

She would not be afraid of the big, bad wolf.

_Don_ _’t be afraid, just survive. Just survive._ She repeated the words in her head as a mantra, even as she sensed the greasy man’s foul breath on her skin.

*****

Hours later, hours she hadn't counted and didn’t want to, Evelyn sat on the edge of her fresh bed, still adorned in the white dress she’d been so excited to wear that morning. Every inch of her body numb.

Looking down at her hands, she noticed the smallest speck of blood dried onto the top of her skin. One bead of crimson proof, staring into the face of all the denial echoing in the cavernous hole in her heart. She jumped to her feet and ran to the wash basin where she thrust her hands into the freezing water and grabbed the bristled scrub brush.

She focused her attention to where she’d seen the spot. She couldn’t see it anymore, but she felt it, nestled against her skin like a tattoo, a sign to the world her worth was compromised. She scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to remove the spot until she had taken off the top layer of skin, her hand bleeding freely into the basin, turning it into a spiraling crimson pool.

With a sharp cry, she grabbed the basin and threw it against the wall where it shattered. Pieces of heavy porcelain exploded against the force, flying by her face in slow motion as she continued to scream, a blood-curdling sound that channeled her fear and pain. 

Helen burst into her room, her nightdress and hair out of sorts as she ran to her screaming mistress.

“Lass, what is wrong?” Helen grabbed her profusely bleeding hand seeking to keep her from harming herself, but Evelyn pushed her away as she continued screaming—nonsensical words pouring between her lipstick-smeared lips.

Helen’s was terrified. She didn’t know what to do.  From the shadows of the open doorway she saw a large figure walk through, she sighed in relief at seeing Lord Trevelyan enter to investigate the commotion occurring within his home.

Evelyn’s heart froze as she saw the man heading towards her. He gripped her by the wrist, dragging her across the expanse of floor, to examine her bleeding hand dripping streams of maroon liquid across the plush Orlesian carpets and her ruined dress.

“Ugh, that beast Tomlinson. I told him not to ruin the goods... Though for twenty grand?” He shrugged with a sneering grin, and she melted away to absorb into the carpet like the pools of her blood. “Go to sleep Evelyn and appreciate that due to your _help_ you’ll have a roof to sleep under for that much longer, instead of living on the streets of Kirkwall as a disgraced noble trying to earn food in her mouth the way you did last night.”

With a chuckle, the man left, leaving his bleeding daughter with her servant, whose eyes were filled with fear. He hadn’t bothered to send the handmaiden out of the room before speaking his vile words out loud.

Her lips quivering, she avoided Helen’s eyes and collapsed as the servant wrapped her worn limbs around the trembling child. She dropped to the floor sobbing and laid there until the early rays of the sun peaked through the edges of the window.

Helen pulled herself from Evelyn and rose clasping her hand as she helped the shaking girl to her feet and over to her closet. She opened the swinging doors and chose a simple dressing gown. Evelyn was stripped from her soiled clothes and into the soft fabric. As she slid into bed beneath the heavy covers, and her eyes shut, she heard Helen whisper.

“Get rest, My Lady. I believe you have many long days ahead of you…”

 

*****

 

“Rise and shine!”

Evelyn lurched forward in bed, gasping, her hand wrapped protectively around her throat. Her desperate eyes took seconds to recognize her bearings, but the Free Marcher style furniture melted away, leaving behind grand pieces of Orlesian fashion. When she was sure she was no longer within the bedroom of her former estate, she swung her legs off the side of the tall cushioned bed. She placed her head between her knees as her gasping breaths shook her abdomen. When a calmness slid across her body like a gown, she sat up, wiping her sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes.

It had been weeks since she’d dreamed of her father and months since a nightmare so vivid about the hell that was the last decade of her life. She knew she was in the guest suite of Grand Duke Gaspard’s winter villa, but she still had a fear swirling within her gut she’d open her eyes and find herself locked back within her gilded cage. Cracking her pale eyes open, she found the villa as she remembered. The decorating was exquisite, speaking of the cultured people of Orlais. An elegance worthy to aspire to, one she would claim for her own because she willed it.

Her sweaty dressing gown clung to her fear-frozen skin, and she trembled from the light breeze drifting from the cracked window. For a moment her body craved a pair of strong arms wrapping around her shoulders from behind, the pair of soft lips pressed against the skin just behind her ear to tell her the dreams were over, the way they had the past few months.

Evelyn shook the thought away as it entered her mind. Cullen did not differ from the men who used that frightened girl. In ways he was worse than those men—he pretended to be something more to her while using her title, power, and body.

The clients her father secured understood what the arrangement was and there were no lies, only the brutal honesty that comes along with stripping the humanity from another human being. Men stuck around for one reason, and it was that they hadn’t taken everything they wanted from her. 

She was the girl no longer and understood the rules of the Game. Taken enough lessons on the matter to fill a textbook. Someday she’d repay her father for teaching her the lesson of trusting no one and finding any way to survive that you can. For years while her father sent her from estate to estate to _comfort_ lonely and rich nobles, Evelyn always kept her eyes and ears open.

In the beginning, it meant telling her father the pieces of information she deciphered from her conversations with her father’s clients.  Over time it led to her being braver, making her own requests of the men who paid exorbitant amounts of their family fortunes to spend a night with her.

From one client, she blackmailed, threatening she would inform his family of their dealings. In exchange for her silence, she received training as a rogue. From another, she beguiled away jewels and Orlesian trinkets unaffordable on her own, and from yet another, she extracted information on her father’s dealings to find a loophole to buy her freedom from her father’s clutches. His grip over her grew tighter after her two middle brothers died in service as Templar, another favor granted by a dedicated and fearful client of Evelyn's.

The less Trevelyan’s existed, the more value Evelyn gained, and the prospects of a potential marriage she could secure. As her list of clients grew, the potential marriage opportunities slimmed. Well-respected men had no qualms sexually assaulting a girl for a cash exchange but grew a conscience when it was time for their heirs to marry. Evelyn descended from the most desired catch in the Free Marches to alone and followed by whispers as she traveled to the weddings of far less desirable and younger women.

The morning of her twenty-fifth birthday, her father threw open the door of her room and announced she was too old and matronly for the prospect of marriage, and his heir, her oldest brother Michael, would escort her to the Divine’s conclave, where she and Michael would speak on behalf of her family. She'd be given to the Chantry, in a sign of solidarity with the Divine, to live out the rest of her years as a Sister in service to the Maker.

She sighed a breath of relief and anger in unison. Her father deemed her of having no more value to him, so he was disposing of her. She failed to secure a marriage since he forced her to service the men of the Free Marches for business partnerships and opportunities for himself. Her worth as a commodity used up, and so she was being donated to charity to make space for something more precious.  

She secured one last favor from her clients before boarding the ship to take her across the rolling ocean to the Conclave; a vial containing the essence of hemlock. When she gained the vial, its purpose had been to feed it to her father.

She fantasized the ways she would deliver it to him- in his brandy, in his food, pouring it into his mouth as he slept. Whatever the way, she wanted to watch the fat fucker die, to watch the life pour out of him onto the floor the way her blood had from her hand that first night.

As the nights drew closer to her to leave, she realized murdering her father would not improve her situation and would condemn her life to the Chantry since she couldn’t survive as a poor spinster.   _Never lose a chance to gain, Evelyn. Never give up power until you get what you want._  Revenge, like all things, had a sweet purpose she would bend to her will.  She would gain, and everyone else would lose, and that suited her better than a simple murder.

Into the pocket of her dress, she stashed the vial, with the comfort when the time came she would drink it, freeing herself of the cage her father placed her in, the fear that cursed her womanhood.

But first Evelyn would destroy his world.

She would follow his plan and speak at the Conclave, but no one could keep her from telling the truth to implicate not only her father but every noble house in attendance to the Divine. The minute she opened her mouth for those black words to tumble out she knew she would live on borrowed time. No one in the Game could destroy so many houses in one fell swoop and survive to tell the tale.

She would tell them the truth, drink the vial, and forever free herself from having to do anything that corrupted and vile man wished of her again. Her poison tinged lips would be the wings she would use to fly, and the devastation she left in her wake would be the vengeance she deserved. 

But Corypheus’ plan and an exploding Conclave changed her fate.

As Inquisitor, Evelyn was provided with opportunities she’d never received in her father’s house. Instead of being valued for her beauty, they valued her honed skills in battle, her ability to think quickly in the Game. She was elated after Haven as the first marriage proposals poured into Josephine for the great ‘Herald of Andraste’. She told her Ambassador to string the families along as she found as much information as possible about the those who now clamored to have Evelyn boost their family’s status.

The world watched her every move as she collected pieces of power to throw around the board. Surrounded by her own staff and advisers, ultimately, she was always alone, as mornings like this one proved.

Leaving the sweat soaked bed behind, she took steps appearing more confident than the shaken noble inside. She peeled her drenched sleeping gown over her head, letting the moist satin fall to the floor before pulling a heavy dressing robe off a hanging hook. Wrapped tight around her curves, she sat down at the massive vanity stretching across one side of the room and towering to the ceiling.

With a slight knock, the door opened and a line of servants wearing the golden masks of the royal family entered, each carrying a small silver tray containing everything from beauty supplies to snacks and tea. A tray of tiny cakes caught her attention, but Evelyn feigned ignorance of the small tower of confections making its way to an adjacent table. As the food and tea were set down along the tabletop stretching to infinity, the line of servants turned and exited, leaving behind the two handmaidens Gaspard appointed for her while the Inquisition stayed with him.

Evelyn ignored the servants as they brushed out the long red hair curling over her shoulders and cascading down her back. She thought about the plans for the day while sipping her tea. Her arrival two days early from the expected for the Inquisition, gave Evelyn enough time to speak with their host and see what kind of man the future Emperor was.

She received enough letters from the Grand Duke to understand what his purpose was and how she could help with those goals, but she liked to speak with people in person to see what their tells told her. Watching, gathering information. Men could hide behind the brush of the pen, but in person, their rushing blood and filthy thoughts always gave them away. They could never hide the truth in their eyes. 

Glancing up from her tea, Evelyn froze. The eyes in the mirror were not her own, but her father’s, always shining out of her skull, judging her every decision. She thought of the eyes once belonging to that bright-eyed girl who sat in front of a similar vanity, in the excitement of walking out and joining the Game, unknowing the evil resting within men’s hearts. No matter how far she ran, no matter how much power she gained, his eyes would always remind her of how easy it was to become powerless.

Her fist flew out and smashed into the mirror. The glass cracked up to the ceiling before shattering in pieces to the ground as the two servants screamed, fleeing to the other side of the room letting the shards rain down on their mistress, who didn’t flinch as the pieces of glass cut her ivory skin.

As the eyes disappeared from the mirror, she breathed a sigh of relief and slid back on her own mask of protection. She raised an eyebrow as she took in the two shaking handmaidens.

“What kind of service is this? You destroy my mirror then stand there instead of cleaning it up? I’d hate to report this to the Grand Duke and get you whipped.”

The women nodded, their faces pointed towards the ground as they darted across the room to pick up the broken pieces of glass from the floor. She reveled in their obedience, in the power that came from commanding their fear. The nasty petty things were no doubt there to watch her, to send details along to Gaspard and inform him of all the cracks in her armor.  He would never get the information. He'd find her armor flawless, as smooth as the mirror she destroyed. 

Let the servants see the fear in their own eyes as they plucked the reflective shards from the ground and let the jagged edges scrape against the palms of their hands. Let them remember that when Gaspard asked them for a report. Let them remember what her wrath could look like. 

Evelyn walked over to her hanging closet to look over her dresses, every step a declaration of her superiority over the dithering handmaids. There was a loud and sloppy knock before the door opened, and Dorian stepped through, dressed in a suede leather outfit that contained more buckles than actual fabric. In his hand sloshed a large goblet of wine, and she licked her lips watching the alcohol move closer to her.

“My, my… what has happened here?” Dorian sauntered forward and rested against a post of her bed.

“Sloppy servants, that’s all.” She replied as she pulled a deep crimson dress from within the wardrobe. Dorian shook his head in disapproval before walking up beside her. He pulled a slim black dress with gold trim from its hanger and tossed it towards the bed. As he reached to remove the red dress from her hands, he stilled observing the crimson cracks oozing across the tops of her knuckles, still shaped into a fist.

“Those servants are truly careless.” He muttered as he pushed his healing energy over her fingers, sealing shut the wounds. His magic spread across her arms, healing the many tiny cuts from the raining shards of glass. “Bad dream?” his whisper barely reached Evelyn’s ears. Her silence enough of a giveaway that the mage sighed and reached behind her, pushing the goblet of wine into her hands. “You need this more.”

Evelyn tilted the goblet back, consuming more than half the large glass in just a few swallows. She sighed as the familiar burn enter her chest, and Dorian made his way to the bed to unlace the bodice of the black dress he chose for her.

He motioned her forward and Evelyn stepped into his domain. Stepping out of her robe, her cousin pulled the smooth black dress over her curves until the fabric gathered on the floor. They were silent as he pulled the laces on the back of her corset to tighten it until she looked the part of an ancient goddess. She swigged down the rest of the wine and turned to Dorian, who clucked in appreciation.

“My darling Evelyn,” he mused. “You look to die for.”

Evelyn smiled, her wine-stained lips tilting sideways. “That’s the plan, Dorian… that’s the plan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS. Thank you to everyone who let me know I pasted the chapter twice! Whoops!


	22. The Chapter Where Solas Gain a Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Peace Talks have arrived and Idalya finishing prepping for her role, but her hardest challenge may by avoiding the monstrosity on Solas' head.

Morning arrived, and the Inquisition was in turmoil. Their party arrived the night before to the villa. Greeted by the Grand Duke’s personnel, the Inquisitor’s companions and council were guided to their lodgings while the rest of the army marched to join the Templar in the army camp set up just south of the Winter Palace. Now the halls of the villa bustled, crowded with servants running back and forth bringing crisp uniforms to members as the Inquisition prepared to make its first official presentation to the nobles of Orlais.

Idalya sat in the corner of the suite she shared in secret with Leliana. Her long legs folded beneath her, a dusty tome on ancient magisters splayed wide in her lap. Her head bobbed, nodding off since she hadn’t slept well, averse to accept Solas' babysitting in the Fade.

Leliana laid out every set of Orlesian slippers she owned, handling them like pet nugs, undecided regarding her attire for tonight’s festivities. It had been so long since the auburn-haired rogue attended an Orlesian event she struggled over which of her jeweled slippers would make their debut to the crowd.

“You're so smug.”

Idalya looked up at her friend keeping her features neutral, but a grin cracked at the edges of her lips.

“And why would you suggest that?” She gestured to the hefty tome. “Does homework from Solas look fun? Because if it does, _I_ _’m doing it wrong_.” She slammed the book shut and frowned as the poof of air blasted the front strands of her silvery hair in a thousand directions, the volume over her current level of glibness.

“No, you are smug because you believe you won't take part in the Game.” Leliana settled her hand on a pair of emerald slippers with miniature jewels sewn in a swirling pattern. “But you forget servants are one of the most significant pieces on the chess board. They have entry to all areas, invisible in a noble’s line of sight. They hear secrets every day that could crumble the entirety of Orlais.”

Putting the pairs of shoes aside, the rogue sat on the corner of the bed closest to Idalya. “Your own mother was a servant, surely she must have taught you these things, no?”

“She was a servant in Ferelden, not Orlais, and wouldn’t lower herself with the _game_.” Leliana was listening, her cobalt eyes thoughtful. “I don’t want to say those of us from Ferelden are simple, I’m just saying ham tastes like ham there, if you know what I mean.”

“Think what you will,” Leliana rose, strolling to the vanity to grab a brush to straighten out the strays in her own hair before she struggling to tackle Idalya’s rat nest of cascading hair, “but appearing _simple_ does not mean what you think it does.”

She motioned for Idalya to sit in the chair as she finished glossing over her auburn locks. The elf rose with a groan and grumbled as she sat on the cushioned stool worth more money than she’d ever owned in her lifetime. When told she would be a servant during the peace talks, Idalya assumed they meant simple attire and being left alone. She forgot she was working in the Winter Palace with the Empress in residence.

Leliana poured the orange oil through her hands, running it through Idalya’s tresses with her bare hands to ease out knots before taking the assortment of brushes before her to the elf’s defiant locks. They spent many nights on the road traveling like this. Hair oils were a luxury they could not afford, but Leliana made due with dampened brushes and leather cords she used to tie off Idalya’s braided hair to keep it presentable until the next battle they faced.

One night darkspawn attacked in camp as Leliana finished straightening her hair. Idalya would never forget the rogue’s fury and reddened cheeks matching her hair after stabbing the last creature to see the elf’s completed hair now knotted, thick streaks of tainted blood coating it.

Idalya smiled, remembering her laughter at her friend’s anger over something as menial as her hair, but she was appreciative to have a lucid memory of something not painful from that time she kept for herself.

Solas spent the last few nights on the road helping her navigate through the Fade. Her ability to move from one memory to another improved, focusing her attention on a certain location and seeing the memories it contained over history. They were nowhere closer to her being able to unlock her missing pieces.

Solas stayed by her side the entire time much to the warrior’s growing annoyance. He knew the minute she was alone she would try to Fadewalk through her own memories to learn what happened between her and the muscle-clad dark-skinned Templar. The mage chuckled at her obvious frustration.

After piecing together everything she remembered, she was confident the kiss happened… she _hoped_. She grew apprehensive, a knot forming into her abdomen instead of her hair for once, knowing she would see him soon. After the talks concluded she travel with him and broach what happened, but until then there was a lot of work to complete.

She never voiced it, but she was excited to be a servant during the proceedings. Not only was she out of Skyhold, but amongst strangers. To be a servant, even for a night, brought her closer to her mother. Her mother lived an entire life Idalya never saw. There was a growing warmth in her chest to be part of that world for just one night. One chance to appreciate the years of work her mother dedicated in serving the royal family of Ferelden to support Idalya and her siblings after losing her father.

Satisfied with her progress against the knots, Leliana brushed her luxurious hair with long strokes as electricity crackled between the strands. Tight against her head her hair was secured into a high ponytail. Idalya winced at the pressure against her scalp but knew there was no point in arguing.

Leliana nodded in approval before walking around to her front to survey her face. She moved a metal box from the top shelf of the vanity. The rogue opened it unveiling makeup in every color Idalya could ever imagine. Leliana combed her fingers through the pieces before choosing a deep liner, wine-colored lipstick, and a few more unfamiliar pieces to the city elf in over her head in Orlais.

She applied the black liner around the elf’s eyes, smudging the line to make Idalya’s lavender eyes pop before applying the rich lipstick to her lips and dusting something else over the rest of her skin. Leliana hummed in approval of her work.

Idalya didn’t recognize her own reflection. Her deep skin glowed with a glittering shimmer and the colors of her eyes swirled on their own, lined by the darkened kohl. She tore her eyes from the image as she knew it was an illusion created for the Orlesians as she rose to retrieve her red servants dress from the closet.

The fabric was stiff as she slid into the jacket, Leliana straightened the collar around her neck and unfastened the silver Warden locket Idalya wore around her neck. Royal servants may have nice uniforms, but they didn’t own silver jewelry, much less wear it in front of nobles who could order them to hand it over.

Leliana paused clutching the locket in her hand. She wasn’t sure why she gave it back to Idalya after her restoration. It was a stupid idea to hand the hero back a piece of jewelry belonging to the King, but it was as much a part of her and who she was as her flowing mane of hair. Pulling open her own uniform jacket, Leliana stuffed the necklace into a hidden inner pocket to ensure its safety.

A knock at the door startled both women lost in the past. The heavy door opened, and Cullen stepped through in his own matching velvet uniform fitted much tighter than Leliana’s or Idalya’s.

“Hey Cullen, you sure you aren’t wearing Dorian’s uniform?” Idalya called over Leliana’s shoulder and the Commander’s face flushed, a rose tint rushing from the apples of his cheeks to his temples, a hand flying to his blushing neck, overly aware of how fitted his uniform was.

“ _Maker_ _’s Breath_ ,” he scowled, “are you two ready for…” Cullen paused in mid-sentence as Idalya stepped out from behind the Spymaster. “Wow… Dal…,” he cleared his throat, “you look beautiful.” Now it was Idalya’s turn to blush, though her dark skin shielded her from being as obvious a target as the Commander.

“Commander, lift your jaw off the floor, we have work to do.” The Spymaster mused as Cullen turned an even deeper shade of blush.

“Dal,” Cullen said, his eyes focused on an interesting patch of carpet, “I’ll take you to Solas, he can show you to the servant quarters.”

Idalya followed behind and as she passed Leliana, the bard cleared her throat and thrust the pair of emerald slippers into Idalya’s gut. The elf laughed at her bare feet forgotten in her eagerness to get started. She gave her best friend a grin for loaning the beautiful shoes as she dropped them to the floor and slid her feet into them before catching up with the blushing Commander who exited the room.

“If Solas must wear shoes here, so do you.” Leliana’s Orlesian accent carried to the elf as she exited to chase down Cullen.

Every single detail from the bookcases to the end tables spoke of a legacy of elegance and wealth. This wasn’t a part of any history Idalya understand, nor wanted to be a part of.

Cullen moved with a grimace on his face, his heavy boots making no noise in the carpeted hallways unlike the obvious commotion going on inside the Commander’s head. Everything around her so controlled from the servants to the attire it stifled her. To Idalya, her mother was a free spirit and to think of her in such a controlled environment made the elf’s heart ache as the memory resonated in her mind.

“Sorry about making fun of your jacket.”

Cullen huffed but slowed his demanding speed so the smaller-stature woman could catch up.

“It’s tight. Who did the measurements for that? If you swing a sword, you’ll rip the fabric right across the back…”

Cullen’s feet stopped, and he turned to the elf babbling in the empty corridor. “I’m aware that it’s tight, _thank you for informing me_.” His eyes squinted, a pain running through his head into his eyes. Possibly a lack of circulation from his coat. “Your apology is unnecessary.” He shifted on his feet not making eye contact with her.

“I do.”

He raised a brow in confusion.

“Need to apologize, that is. That’s what friends do, at least I’d like to be your friend if I’m not… I consider you a friend so… yeah.” Speaking wasn’t her strongest skill some days.

“I would like that,” Cullen mumbled as her observed the elf who looked so different tonight. “When you’ve seen the things we have, it’s important to surround ourselves with those who care about our wellbeing, I accept all friendship you wish to grace me with.”

A smile lit up her features and the knot in Cullen's stomach grew once more over risking this woman needlessly when she had an uphill battle in front of her.

He knew Evelyn demanded Idalya be a servant on this mission as some message to the Warden. What Evelyn didn't understand was even thrown into an environment where Idalya should falter, the Warden would prosper and gain the respect of others. The Warden could dress in rags beneath a golden mask and still stood greater than the surrounding people. Her heart generated kindness, and she always put others before herself. Something, Cullen could admit, Evelyn lacked on the best of days.

“We should get you to Solas, so you two can begin.”

“Yeah, he’s salty enough in the first place, he doesn’t need extra motivation.”

Cullen snorted and slowed his walk to a pace she could follow. The Commander was uncomfortable surrounded by this much wealth as she was. His body posture remained stiff their entire trip through the hallways.

“So now that we have the friendship discussion out of the way,” Idalya stared down at her emerald slippers as they maintained their pace, “have any of your other friends, by chance, mentioned me?” The end of her sentence rambled out. The silence between the two remained until the elf peeked up, unable to handle her curiosity and found the former Templar staring at her, his brow furrowed.

“What?”

He was making her uncomfortable.

“You want to know the details of Rylen’s shared fantasies?” He questioned, incredulous to her motives.

“No… I wanted to… wait, ew!” The elf stopped in her tracks, her jaw gaping open. “ _Andraste_ _’s frilly knickers_! No, that isn’t what I wanted. Never mind.” She took off ahead of Cullen who caught up in a few large and silent strides.

“If that isn’t what you were asking about, who were…” Cullen paused and chuckled, understanding why the elf was so embarrassed. “No, he hasn’t mentioned you outside his duties.” When he saw the elf’s shoulders slump, guilt flooded through him.

He answered her question since she asked if Barris spoke of her, but anyone with eyes could see the way his friend burned for the Hero when she graced his presence. Most of Rylen’s detailed boasting about Idalya’s abundant features was to see how long the Templar could handle hearing about the Warden in the basest terms possible before storming away.

Rylen’s prized record stood at a mere thirty seconds before his best friend threw a gauntleted fist into Rylen’s armor-covered abdomen after a vivid retelling of a sweaty sparring match the Templar and elf just finished. Idalya ended the match in spectacular fashion pinning Rylen’s shoulders to the ground with her knees. It took Rylen and Cullen days to get Barris to speak to them again after Cullen laughed as Rylen doubled over with the hit.

 “Can we forget I mentioned this?” Her shoulders slumped, head down as she followed.

Cullen nodded as they turned the corner into a wide furnished room with many service members of the Inquisition inside.

“Thank goodness, there’s Solas… WHAT IS ON HIS HEAD?”

With loud and defiant steps, the elf strode away from the Commander, not hearing his response to her question, to where her mentor stood with the most ridiculous monstrosity of hats perched upon his head.

“What is this?” She demanded, pointing to the top of Solas’ covered head. Solas looked taken aback before raising a brow. The top was metal with a red scarf wrapped around the bottom. It was the single most insulting piece of clothing she ever laid eyes on.

“It’s a hat, obviously.” His irritation was clear as he adjusted the hat’s placement on his head.

“I thought we're supposed to be inconspicuous on this mission?” Idalya blurted, confused why anyone would wear something as ridiculous as that hat.

“We are,” Solas replied flatly.

“Then why are you wearing that?” She flailed her hands in front of him in frustration. “I can’t take my eyes off that abomination! Do I need to find a Templar to vanquish it?”

A rueful grin broke across the apostate’s face. “I suppose any excuse to speak to a certain Templar.” He mused.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Idalya’s voice rose an octave as tried to hide her annoyance brewing with the mage since they set out on this mission.

“I don’t think you’re angry at my hat. I think you’re upset I wouldn’t let you search your memories to see what you forgot in your drunken stupor."

“Yeah, maybe I am! Maybe I’m embarrassed by my actions!” Idalya yelled back, her face turned to one of embarrassment as the truth spilled past her wine-colored lips. She leaned forward to the cocky mage. “How do you do that?” She whispered now aware of the surrounding glances.

“Do what?” His confidence was obnoxious.

“Make me tell you things I would never admit to others.” Her nostrils flared as her breath exited through them.

“Ah.” He sighed, some of his sarcasm melting away. “It is but the folly of youth,  _Asha_. It’s been a long time since I’ve been young, but as mind-blowing as the concept may seem to you, I was young once and loved.”

The warrior darted her eyes to the floor as a deep flush came into her cheeks.

“No matter how extraordinary your own history may be, humanity is universal, Dal.” He waited for the girl to look up at him, but she was stubborn like himself. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“I still hate your hat.” She mumbled, guilty regarding her outburst, but not enough to apologize.

“We must disagree on that subject.” A deep chuckle resonated within his chest and Idalya shook her head as she looked at him. “Ready to get started?”

The warrior nodded, and they made their way together to the carriage taking them to the Winter Palace.


	23. The Chapter Where Idalya Become a Servant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Orlesian Peace Talks have begun. Idalya discovers the people they're protecting are just as dangerous as their enemies.

The jade jeweled slippers on loan from Leliana moved without sound over the granite polished floors of the Palace. This mission wasn’t what she expected.

Upon arrival, the Empress' staff escorted the undercover elves to the kitchens where they would transport information and messages over the course of the peace talks. Her skills were wasted during this excursion, but it was a great plan. Elves moved unseen through the palace in servants’ dress. They kept their ears and eyes open while remaining invisible, silent ghosts sneaking through the darkened hallways.

The staff was a warm and friendly bunch. The cook, an older, heavyset woman with dark blond curls caused Idalya to ache with memories of her mother as she barked out orders to the servants. Assorted elves smiled at her as they zig-zagged across the large open kitchen leading massive trays back to the starving masses in the main hall.

There was an intricate beauty in the organization and execution here the nobles never saw. As massive of an event as this was for the Inquisition, it was an average day in the Palace. They would clean up after the festivities and head home late in the darkness to their waiting families.

As someone up before the sun rose each morning destroying hay stuffed dummies beside Cassandra, Idalya appreciated those who worked as hard as demanded. The exquisite detail of every tray traveling by spoke not only of the Empress’ wealth but the pride these servants took in their work.

Her specific role in this mission was a simple one: take updates back and forth between different members under the guise of communication from the Inquisitor herself. After all these months of training side by side with Cullen’s army, she still didn't feel part of the Inquisition. They needed her to take down Corypheus’ dragon, but once completed there was no use for a Warden beyond her time.

If there _was_  a life after defeating the Archdemon.

The elf admitted she wasn’t envisioning any future after the ultimate battle with the Archdemon. She was certain the magic coursing through her limbs, connected her to the beast. There was no point planning when once the dragon was lying dead on the ground, Idalya assumed her lifeless body would lie beside it.

There was a morbidly beautiful symmetry about the whole idea.

 _Stop thinking like that_. 

Solas’ voice popped into her head and a slight smile tugged at her lips at the thought of the curmudgeonly mage berating her for being so pessimistic. As much trouble and eye-rolling as she gave the man, she owed him for the help he gave her while working together. Solas could strand her frightened within the Fade but guided her between memories without judgment.

He pointed out many times she should not be able to Fadewalk, much less be as talented with the skill. She presumed it had to do with being ripped out of the Fade. Maybe the more time a soul spent in the Fade, the more natural it was to control the nuances of dreams.

She ambled through the back hallways of the Palace, focused on nothing. Cullen waited, expecting her and the information she carried, to plan his next tactical move. The hallway turned into the Empress’ personal gallery of art, paintings hung in elaborate golden frames depicting the former rulers of Orlais.

Around the furthest corner, she nearly collided with two Orlesian men. Very established and wealthy men by the design of their ornate masks. They’d been whispering away from the main path for the ballroom. A small gasp escaped her lips as they realized the servant’s interruption in their discussion.

Her eyes lowered, she curtsied showing their position of importance the way Solas showed her, even as she gritted her teeth.  _Fucking Orlesians_. The taller of the two men tilted his head, paying close attention to her every movement while the stockier one with greasy dark hair approached her, a grin below his well-groomed handlebar mustache hidden by the silver and emerald jeweled mask he wore.

“Well… look what we’ve found.” The shorter man spoke to his friend, an Orlesian accent slurring his words. “She’s quite a lovely one, isn’t she?” He reached up with his oily fingers and ran them along the outline of Idalya’s cheekbones as she flinched at the contact.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she maintained level breathing.  _Should a servant be used to this?_  She was cornered. Her body withdrawing as the two men moved closer. The stiff linen of her skirt brushed against the contraband dagger strapped to her thigh as she stepped backward.

In half a heartbeat, she could have her weapon drawn and have both men writhing in pain on the floor, but her mission was to remain invisible. If she followed her instincts and hurt these idiots, she would hang for committing treason and bringing weapons into the palace.

When she felt the press of the cool wall against her back, real fear ran through her veins.

“An Inquisition servant, no less. Where are you from, girl?” The stout man approached her so the foul stench of alcohol along his breath soured her stomach. The hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

“Fer… Ferelden, sir.” She stuttered the words, ashamed at following this man’s games.

The men uttered a chilling chuckle as they looked at one another.

“I may have to hire some Ferelden maids from now on. Orlesian elves are never this beautiful. Who knew the Doglords could breed such mongrels _and_ knife ears?”

 _Knife ear_. The words echoed through her skull as a brewing rage consumed her fear. She’d grown soft to the names thrown at her every place she traveled after working for months within the protective bubble of the Inquisition. She may not identify with the Dalish or elf customs, but damn anyone to the Void anyone who thought of her as weak or less for being born an elf.

“I wonder how much the Inquisition would sell her for. I’d like to take her back to my estate.” The stout man spoke to his friend as he dragged a greasy finger down the length of her uniformed arm.

The taller man huffed a breath of annoyance underneath his gold and opal mask.

“Philippe,” Idalya saw the taller man’s brown eyes rolling beneath his mask. “Why would you even bother? She’s a  _mudskin_ , you can’t bring her within the villa without her leaving stains everywhere.”

The stout man laughed while licking his thick chapped lips as he reached closer to her face. Her heart beat swayed her body back and forth with each booming echo of the muscles. Her fingers drifted towards the dagger on her leg, the closer the disgusting man moved.

“Guess I’d have to keep this one out in the stables then, Fredrick.” The greasy man ran his fingers over the lengths of his mustache. “She’s a got a streak of wild in her, I could just tame her like another one the horses.” He raised his hand to Idalya’s chin, pinching her skin and tilting it towards him. She winced in pain from the contact. “From what I know about the Trevelyan woman and her  _giving_   _nature_ , I bet she’d be willing to part with this one for free.”

_Damn all of this. Damn Orlais. Damn the fucking Inquisition._

This isn't what she agreed to. As her fingers reached under the edge of her skirt to grab the handle of the dagger, a throat cleared with authority behind the two Orlesians who turned in shock to see who dared interrupt their shenanigans as Idalya’s hand returned to her side.

A tall woman with deep ebony skin stood with her shoulders pointed back. An elegant hat shaped into white horns adorned her head matching her white Orlesian mage robes. She held a graceful white wooden staff with glowing sapphire jewel braced on top and an eyebrow raised as she awaited recognition by Idalya's perpetrators.

“ _Madame de Fer_.” The two men spoke in unison as they bowed to the dark-skinned mage who nodded in approval at their startled reaction.

“Forgive our rudeness, Madame, we did not hear your approach.” The stout man spoke with a nervous timbre as he approached the woman. She remained still as a statue as he took her hand.

“All is forgiven, Philippe.” The woman’s voice was deep with a soothing purr. “I overheard the Dowager speaking of your humanitarian work for the unfortunate refugees of this terrible civil war we find ourselves in. You are an asset to Orlais and set such a visible example of how to serve the Empress with integrity.” She smiled at the shaking man. Idalya identified the venom behind her eyes, the slight twitch of her fingers along her staff the only things betraying her cool exterior.

A blush of horror spread over the skin not protected by his mask. The stout and disgusting man grumbled before walking away as fast as his small, thick legs would carry him knowing he had been bested in the Game. The taller man bowed again for the regal woman and left before forced to explain what happened.

Madame de Fer remained still, tilting her head to the side as she listened to their footsteps grow quieter through the hallways until even Idalya’s sensitive ears no longer heard their trace steps. She turned to peer at Idalya, her features softening, becoming more expressive concern denting into the corners.

“Are you…” her velvet voice drifted over Idalya with a warmth like the passing rays of the sun.

“Yes. I… yes. I’m fine. Thank you, Madame.” Idalya interrupted, remembering her place in this mission.

This woman had power, whoever she was, and Idalya needed to be careful to not let any Inquisition secret out. She stood quiet, her eyes focused on the floor, waiting for dismissal by the mage. After a lifetime, the woman broke the silence.

“You are aware, I’m sure, if you pulled your weapon on those brutes, the guards would hoist you up on the Gallows, as we speak.”

Idalya gulped and nodded her understanding. The longer she stood there her body trembled as the fear from her last encounter released into her muscles.

The woman reached out her thumb dragging it along the outside of Idalya’s lip, the elf widening her eyes in surprise. She held her hand up showing the excess lipstick she cleared off the side of her face from the smudging her greasy friend left. Idalya calmed that the woman was helping her and was not another well-dressed enemy in wait.

The mage stepped forward until she closed the distance between the two of them looking into Idalya’s eyes with her own eyes the color of the sky on the Storm Coast.

“They will always underestimate you.” The woman motioned her head towards the ballroom. “They see a  _mudskin_ ,  _knife-eared_ _bitch_  and they overlook you, presuming with one glance they know you and what you’re capable of.” She spat. “The same way people once looked at me and saw nothing more than a  _mudskin_  mage and assumed I’d never pass my Harrowing, much less lead a Circle.” She leaned closer, the sweet fragrance of Andraste’s Grace flowing off the mage’s immaculate robes.

“But we proved them wrong. We used their failure to recognize greatness and propelled ourselves into power with it.” The mage moved back looking at Idalya thoughtfully. “Always remember your strength is your power and it will always allow you to persevere no matter what is ahead of you.” Standing up straight, the woman once more transformed into Madame de Fer.

“It has been an honor Lady Mahariel.” The mage gave the slightest bow with the edge of her horned head. Idalya's jaw dropped open as the mage walked away, her tall white heels producing a clicking echo in the gallery.

“How did you know?” She had to discover how the mage knew her identity. What else did the palace know about their mission? Were they in danger? If one person could identify her, dozens could alert the Venatori.

The mage stopped and tilted her head back over a slender shoulder, “The Hero of Ferelden walks through the front door of the Game itself and you expect one of the Court Enchanters to not recognize you? Your secret is safe, my dear, you pose neither me nor my Empress any danger. Though I need to get back to seeing what trouble your Inquisitor is getting into while assuming she’s inconspicuous.”

Idalya had to give it to the woman, she did her job well. “You’re fantastic.” She admitted as the mage swayed away again.

“Yes,” the woman mused, her grin audible in her response. “I am.”

She remained motionless, watching the elegant mage make her way towards the ballroom as the first bells chimed for the guests to return to the local area. 

 _Cullen. The ballroom_. 

Rushing, her feet carried back into the foyer as she tucked her head down and meandered past the patrons taking their sweet time moving back into the ballroom. Her eyes scanned the crowd before spotting the Commander backed into a corner, swarmed by a group of over-amorous Orlesians, panic clear on his face.

After covering her disdain, she approached Cullen until feet away. As Cullen’s eyes met hers, there was an immediate relief as he sidestepped a male noble who was getting too handsy for anyone’s comfort, much less the uptight Commander.

“Yes, Servant?” His voice sounded shaky and as much as Idalya wanted to poke fun of Cullen’s dislike of attention, she felt remorse for him being stuck in tight uniforms to entertain nobles eyeing him as nothing more than a potential bedding.

“Ser, the Inquisitor has need of your council….” Her instruction was to give him information on troops and Evelyn’s movements throughout the castle in her search for the Venatori’s plan, but she saw the Commander needed a rescuing of his own.

Cullen gave his farewell bows to the nobles who scoffed in annoyance as Cullen took elongated steps to the exit to leave the stifling crowds behind as fast as possible.

As they exited the ballroom, Cullen sighed, his breath stuttering with the exertion. Leliana approached at a faster pace for the guarded woman though those around them wouldn’t notice.

“Commander, the Inquisitor has verified the Venatori are in attendance. She found murdered servants on the upper floors of the palace to hide their entrance. The time has arrived.” She turned to Idalya, who remained silent behind the Commander as expected by a servant. “We should not have brought you, Dal. I’ll summon Solas to find you and escort you back to camp. Go to the kitchens and stay there until Solas finds you. You will be safe there. The Venatori cannot discover you are in attendance.”

The fear in the Spymaster’s eyes was clear and Idalya understood better than to push her friend when she was throwing orders out. There was a time to lead and a time to follow and following Leliana’s orders would help take worries off her friend’s mind while they saved the Empress. For the success of the mission, Idalya would listen and stay guarded in the camp, like a damsel in distress, while the Inquisition sought to change the tide of history. She would be remembered as a team player, damn it. With a curt nod of acknowledgment, she turned in her jade slippers, returning to the kitchens.

With the ringing of the first bell, early arrivals made their way towards the ballroom and Idalya hid her revulsion passing through the waves of masked faces. It was very Ferelden of her, but she couldn’t overcome the distrust the Orlesian masks invoked within her. To wear a mask to show one’s true self rang hollow to the elf. A mask identifying your family and titles no different to her than the branding of slaves. The individual disappeared replaced with a title and role. She hated everything about it.

The further she passed into the heart of the palace, the more the crowds thinned until she traveled the dimmed hallways alone. Servants of other nobles passed by not acknowledging her presence which bothered her the more it happened. Heading towards the servant entrance, Idalya bowed her head in passing to a Lady in a deep maroon and black gown standing in the darkened shadows at the head of the staircase. She crossed the hall at a casual pace to not draw attention to herself.

As she neared the door to the servant entrance, the lightest footsteps approached her. Her hand slipped to the dagger at her side as she turned to confront whoever was trying to get the drop on her. Spinning around, she looked into Solas’ cerulean eyes.

 _“Maker_!” The sound echoing off the ornate walls, not expecting the elf to have closed the distance so soon. She peered up to where the Lady stood but breathed a sigh of relief she had returned to the ball before the two elves made a scene.

“Dal… you’re okay?” Solas’ features filled with worry, his features showing more age than he’d ever admit.

Idalya curbed her desire to roll her eyes at everyone’s intense need to worry about her- she was a trained warrior. Everyone forgot that.

So yeah… she died once, that was her own decision. She wasn’t bested in battle or struck down by darkspawn. She gave her life to protect those around her which should get her more respect from people instead of being treated like a child. They feared some outside force coming for her when the only danger presented to her so far had been from the nobles they were here to protect.  

“Yes, I’m fine Solas. Let’s get going.” She was proud of herself for not sounding irritated at the mage. He was protecting her to the best of his abilities, but she wasn’t as fragile as they thought.

Grabbing the door handle of the servant’s hall, she twisted the large brass knob and froze as the door opened, the overwhelming reeking of iron assaulting her sensitive nostrils. Her and Solas looked at each other preparing for their next movements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you for reading and all your support. I hope you enjoy the fic.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idalya and Solas discover the collateral damage of hunting the Venatori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning for graphic descriptions*

With a flick of her wrist, her dagger was in her hand. Solas’ eyes glowed with a green luminescence as he channeled his mana into his palms. In a defensive position, she crept through the door into the now pitch-black hallway as the aroma of rusty iron overwhelmed her. The silence in the hall was claustrophobic as Solas inhaled before his magic passed around her illuminating the lamps at once.

“ _NO!_ ” The word shot from her throat ending in a sob as her eyes adjusted to the lit hallway.

The deafening silence was due to every servant lying dead upon the ground; the reeking of iron, their flowing blood bathing the entire length of the hall in a crimson river. Her body trembled as she inched forward to the first body- a young elf, no older than sixteen, features twisted in pain, hand outstretched toward the door to the main hall of the palace.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat as she investigated the girl’s chest to examine the eight stab wounds delivered to sever multiple organs. From her expression, Idalya knew the wounds did not end the girl’s life quickly. She’d lain on the cement floor reaching for the door, praying to any god listening for help as her life spread across the rocks.

Butchered then left to die like cattle.

Solas remained silent behind her and when she turned to question him through tear-strewn eyes, she found his face contorted in fury. His mana pulsing around him, his rage enough to blow the palace into oblivion.

“Why, Solas?” Her voice sounded weak, desperate. “They were just servants. I don’t understand…” her voice faded away spotting a woman farther down the hallway with blood-soaked golden curls framing her round cheeks.

With a sob, her hand flew to her mouth as she recognized the cook so like her own dear mother. She waded into the pools of blood which soaked through her once immaculate slippers, unable to stop herself.

Reaching her, she found the woman’s dead eyes, once a rich brown that mirrored her mother’s, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. The skin of her face taking on a gray hue from her blood loss. Warmth still radiated from the bodies, the choking humidity from the massive pools of blood filling the room. She kneeled and pushed the dampened curls out of the woman’s face, a mother grooming a sleeping child.

“You want to know why this happens?” Solas’ voice startled her, the venom in his tone terrifying. “This is our fate in the Great _Fucking_ Game. Elves become fodder for fighting nobles, objects disposed of on a whim.”

Idalya’s tears crippled her at the thoughts of families sitting awake tonight waiting for the loved ones who would never return home.  _I should have been here. I could have saved these people._  The thought rang in her head on repeat deafening her.

“History is full of these invisible massacres of our people.” Solas’ continued, his anger growing with each chosen word. “The woman we’re here to save set an alienage on fire to destroy a _minor_ uprising. These elves paid their lives in an attempt on hers.  _How many elves are worth one Orlesian?_ ” He howled in anger as he stared at the servant's unmoving bodies. His voice boomed in the stone room and Idalya shut her eyes to hold whatever composure she had left.

She was so shaken she never heard the sets of footsteps approaching from the outer hall. Over her shoulder, she saw the Inquisitor enter through the doorway, her dress was golden with black accents, setting her hair ablaze in the burning candlelight as she stepped into the room. Dorian, Blackwall, and Sera all followed close behind as Solas stepped back into the furthest corner, releasing his mana as Dorian raised a concerned eyebrow at the elf on his entrance.

The members of the Inquisition observed the carnage in silence. The Inquisitor’s face remained unmoved while the looks on her companions faces portrayed a much grimmer image of what they discovered in the other wings of the palace.

“Your handiwork?” The Inquisitor inquired, arching her eyebrow towards Idalya.

 _“Evelyn_!” Dorian turned on the Inquisitor before Idalya reacted, shock on his tanned features. “If this _Inquisitor_ job doesn’t work out for you, you should think about becoming a magister- you appear to have a similar set of humanitarian values. I think Trevinter is a natural fit for you.” He spat, unable to meet his cousin's eyes.

Evelyn shrugged and looked at Blackwall. “Help me through to the other door, I can’t soil my good heels.”

Blackwall frowned, his beard taking over most his face and groaned before approaching Evelyn, lifting her by the waist and placing her over his shoulder to carry her through the blood-soaked sunken hall. On the other side, Blackwall placed her on the dry steps as Evelyn took off through the door without as a pause as the grizzled Warden shook his head and followed her drawing his sword.

Dorian turned to face Solas who remained silent in the dark corner. “I know it changes nothing, but I’m sorry. There is no excuse for any of this.” Whether he meant the dead elves, Evelyn’s comments, or everything, Idalya wasn't certain.

The mage waded through the bodies, making his way after the Inquisitor who hadn’t waited for her companions to follow. As he exited with a sigh, leaving Sera behind. Her face unreadable as she stared at the scene in front of her. As the rogue watched, Idalya reached out a shaking hand and closed the eyes of the cook, smearing a trail of blood across her eyelids from her soaked hand.

Sera looked at the faces of the dead as she passed, memorizing every detail her mind allowed, the horror of their last moments etched forever in their skin. At the stairway, she stopped, her shoulders tense as she tried to control her anger and keep her tears inside.

“Hero?” Idalya met the rogue with a weary face. “Never forget the little people. No matter how good we do, no matter who we save… we’ll never be them. It could be any of us who died here, and no one would care.” Sera’s features contorted as emotions threatened to come tumbling out. “Thank you for not forgetting them.” The elf ran an angry hand across her cheek, rubbing away the evidence of a runaway tear as she exited to the other side of the palace.

Idalya heard the unsheathing of the daggers before footsteps as a darkened figure stepped into the room. The amethyst hood fell back as Leliana’s head appeared. Her eyes wild and full of fright, she scanned the room before resting her sights on Idalya.

“ _Oh, thank the Maker_...” She turned to Solas. “Please, I beg of you. Take Dal through the front doors to the Templar camp. We're surrounded by Venatori, many people have lost their lives. Idalya and the Inquisitor must be protected at all costs, Solas.”

The mage was silent, his back pressed against the stone as rage bellowed through his limbs. The Spymaster walked close, so they were eye to eye.

“There will be revenge for your people, Solas, but not today.” Any mortal would not have deciphered her careful whisper, but Idalya’s Elven ears made it sound like she was shouting in the quiet room.

Grinding his teeth, Solas forced himself to meet the Spymaster’s eyes then they drifted to Idalya who was still shaking in the middle of the room surrounded by the dozens of dead elves. His eyes softened as he watched the guilt and grief, emotional wounds, poured out to blend in the mixing sea of red.

“Idalya, come with me.” His voice was a cool breeze of air across the desert.

The fight moved back into her limbs, her anger strengthening them as she rose to standing. Solas’ face returned to its normal expression, but his eyes remained weary and defeated. She suspected he was using his magic to draw her out of the room. Any other day, she'd have been offended, but right now she was a minute away from lying beside the cook’s body and crying for the mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters lost this day.

As she reached the stairs, Leliana flew the remaining steps wrapping her arms around Idalya.

“We will hold the Venatori responsible, my friend,” Leliana whispered. “Go. Please stay safe. They will make their move soon.”

Idalya nodded, numb, against her friend’s shoulder before pulling back to look at Solas. Leliana pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the blood from Idalya’s hands until they appeared as clean as they could get, the symbolic taint still resonating in her skin.

“Come,  _Asha_.” Solas’ hand cooled her shoulder as he helped guide her up the stairs to exit out of the blood-soaked servant’s quarters, into the over-sterilized world of the nobles.

Her body shook as the temperature difference between the halls hit her. The main hallways of the palace were peaceful and coated in grandeur, unlike the world the two elves just left smeared with gore. Idalya was aware Leliana exited behind them, but never saw the rogue step out into the darkened corners of the elaborate and garish building.

The two elves walked in silence towards the front of the palace, Solas standing straighter than any other Elven servant daring a noble to make a comment to him about knowing his place. They received nothing more than hushed whispers as they passed. Large crowds gathered and drew closer to the front doors, a soft murmur passing over the Orlesians as they waited for the second chime of bells to arrive late to the ballroom.

As Idalya spotted the massive wooden doors to the ballroom, Solas turned to the left steering her with him, a thin hand placed at the curve of her spine to direct her away from the gathering crowds. The sounds of voices echoed, followed them as they traveled closer to the exit.

A red Inquisition uniform lingered in the distance and she sighed as Rylen came into focus. He was leaning against a banister, a lopsided smirk on his face as he flirted with a handsome Orlesian man, at least from the nose down, a bronze mask covering the upper half of his face matching his rust-colored hair.

Solas didn’t slow his pace as he headed for the Templar. “Knight-Captain, I have a special assignment from the Nightingale to escort this woman to the Templar camp for holding.” Concern passed over Rylen’s jovial face as he looked towards Idalya who continued to keep her face directed down even though their time pretending to be servants neared its end.

“Understood.” Rylen nodded at the disappointed Orlesian man with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a wink before turning to escort Idalya.

Solas reached over, taking her hand in his own and squeezed. Words were unnecessary. He planned to travel back into the palace, destroying every Venatori agent he located. Telling him to stay safe was unneeded while vengeance brewed behind his eyes. Her mentor Fadestepped away before Idalya adjusted her vision. Woe be to those he discovered within the darkened passages.

They walked in silence, the elf’s feet dragging with each step, her emotional pain manifesting through her limbs.

“Are you okay?” He asked unable to discern what happened.

“No.” She was so exhausted as she fought to push each foot forward. Even combat wasn't this tiring.

“You want to talk about what happened?” Rylen stopped to examine her, his concern etching further lines into his eyes. She scoffed.

 _“No_.”

Rylen sighed, running a frustrated hand through his deep brunette locks slicked back and styled for once.  _Looks like Josephine got to all of us_ , too bad the servants of Skyhold are missing this. The thought of Skyhold filled her with sadness and a shred of bitterness.

She yearned to see how the world changed over a decade but found it still unbalanced in the favor of the rich and noble born. Ten years, a Blight, and a magister ripping a hole in the sky didn't steer Thedas off that path.

Rylen grasped her by the shoulder and gave a supportive squeeze before continuing his lead to the Templar barracks. The silence between friends was respected. Both understood there were moments where vocalizing what you’ve seen can make the truth so much worse. The further her steps carried her from the scene of the carnage, the less Idalya occupied her body, part of her soul had died, left behind forever with the elves laying silent in the hallway.

Senseless violence never made sense to her.

Her mother spent days explaining how her father died in a scramble between elves in their alienage and royal officers of King Maric's army. A heated argument over taxation burned out of control into a riot between the tense sides. Her father was returning home from work at the blacksmith’s shop when trampled by an angry crowd.

Her mother and siblings explained what happened to her father repeatedly, yet Idalya spent hours staring at the tattered wooden door waiting for him to walk back inside. The same part of her consciousness held its breath, waiting to see the elves standing in front of her, warm smiles returned to their pink ruddy faces, not the gray and sunken skin that replaced any warmth left.

A side door opened, and Rylen withdrew his sword as a large figure passed through the frame into the candlelit hall. Idalya didn’t need to lift her gaze to sense Knight-Captain Barris entering.

She wouldn't let herself meet his eyes. For the sake of those around her, she was controlling her emotions. Just one moment of kindness within the emerald eyes of the Templar would undo her- her resolve crumpling as she yearned for nothing more than the safety of his arms to hide from the world around her.

The sound of sniffling coming from behind the Templar caught her attention. Tucking his sword away, Rylen stepped closer to Barris, curiosity on his face. A young elf with brunette hair braided on the sides of her head stepped out from behind Barris, cowering as she saw Rylen approach.

“What’s happened?”

Idalya wondered if Rylen understood both elves heard him as he spoke a breathed whisper to be respectful of the elves while he addressed his fellow Captain.

“Spy of Briala’s.” Barris’ voice was low, but not a whisper understanding the women heard everything.

Idalya skinned warmed as his eyes bored into her but kept her own focused away.

“She knows incriminating information about Briala and sprung a trap in Lady Florianne’s room. The Inquisitor wants her taken to the Commander for protection until her time to testify against the Ambassador and Empress.”

The Templars continued to talk, but Idalya stopped listening. Terror glued on the young elf’s face, a small stream of blood flowing from a healing gash on her forehead. She couldn’t separate the image of the slaughtered girl with her hand outstretched towards the door with this crying girl.

Were those elves her family? Friends? Lovers? 

The thoughts were a lance through her chest. She moved to the young girl, wrapping her arms around the shaking elf as the girl burst into tears, pressing her face into the bright crimson fabric of Idalya’s uniform.

“You’re scared, but you’re safe now.” Soft and calming words, the only condolences she could offer. The girl breathed deeper as she let herself believe the words the servant spoke. “I am with the Inquisition. We will let no harm come to you. I will protect you with my dying breath.” 

Idalya knew it was the truth as the words tumbled out. She’d struggled to come to terms with where she belonged. This was her drawing a line in the sand and making her choice to stand with the Inquisition if it allowed her to help those in need.

This trip reminded her of what it meant to be powerless. Something harder to remember the longer she was a Warden since she’d gained the power to control her own fate- something not granted in Thedas to dark-skinned elves. Duncan saw something in her the day he conscripted her, setting her feet on a path that freed her from a life within the alienage.

She shushed the frail girl until she stopped shaking in her arms. Idalya took the girl’s shoulders in her hands as she looked in the girl’s large brown eyes that looked unsettled, but no longer terrified. “My name is Idalya and I swear I will keep you safe.”

The girl nodded, confidence returning to her features. She turned to the two Templars who now stood and watched the scene in front of them unfold.

Rylen’s features were unreadable as he looked back and forth between the two elves, but Barris’ eyes locked to her blood-soaked slippers and the splashes of blood littering her ankles. The dried crimson stains running along the backs of her hands, dread setting into his face as he tried to imagine what happened to the Hero within the velvet plush lined rooms of the Winter Palace.

“I will escort her to Cullen.” Idalya drew back her shoulders as she stared down the two Templars who had matching pairs raised eyebrows.

“Dal,” Rylen began while stepping towards her with his arm outstretched. “I'm under orders by Solas and Nightingale to make sure you arrived in camp. Your safety is integral to the Inquisition, Doll. We will make sure you two arrive at the Commander.” This was as serious as Idalya had ever seen her friend, but she would get her way.

“Rylen, do you think you two could protect us any better than my own skills?” She noticed the briefest flicker of a smile on Barris’ gorgeous lips before fading back into work mode. Rylen went to respond, but Barris cut him off.

“She’s right Rylen, I’ve seen her knock your ass across a training ring enough times to last a lifetime.” Surprised Barris vouched for her abilities, she stumbled, surprised, when he looked at her. “Be careful.” His voice trailed off as though there was an unspoken part of his warning, something they would not express in present company.

A lifetime ago she held a ball of wound knots in her stomach at the thought of facing the handsome Templar again. But facing him now her fear gone, her apprehension in his presence nothing more than the overwhelming need to stay by his side. She knew for certain she kissed the handsome Templar. How could she not? How could she travel by his side and not have the compulsion to give him everything she had?

There was an emotion behind his emerald jewels of eyes she wasn’t ready to name, but the thought he could feel the same way about her filled her with a courage she needed. She needed to escort this girl to her friend, but she wasn’t done with this Templar-  _not by a long shot_.

Through a sheer act of willpower, she drew her eyes away from Barris back to the no longer shaking elf, whose bloodshot eyes were fading back to white. “Come with me.” She outstretched her hand, and the girl took it with no hesitation. Idalya turned back towards the ballroom with more certainty than she’d had since awakening in this new world.


	25. The Chapter Where Cullen is Trapped by Orlesians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen underestimated how aggressive the Orlesians would be, but a distraction will present itself at the exact moment he needs it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! The final chapter of the rewritten Burning in the Flames, the prequel Evelyn fic is posted. You can find it in the Idalya Mahariel Stories link above.

The vapid Orlesians closed in the minute his decorative boots returned to the ballroom. Hunters stalking their prey as they’d maneuvered the Commander into a distant corner away from the dance floor while droning on about earlier salons and scandals.

At first, Cullen thought he’d find pertinent information buried within rumors the nobles whispered out of earshot if he observed hard enough. He realized the error of his ways as it became plain the nobles knew far less than he gave them credit for. He’d opened himself up for discussion as Josephine threatened him to, not expecting the nobles to pursue him with the intensity they exhibited.

One man came close to ending up with an ornamental sword rammed beneath his Adam's apple after his hands wandered into places off limits. The Commander wasn’t certain his blade was sharp enough to elicit blood, but he was impatient to confirm if he could stab with sheer force through the next violating noble that dared put their hands on him.

When he addressed the Ambassador, red-faced and aggravated, Josephine responded with enthusiasm much to Cullen’s horror.  She was pleased the nobles were enamored with him and the potential allies it could help them bring to the Inquisition.  _If I_ _’m not careful, I’ll leave Orlais engaged to a minor noble’s youngest daughter to gain entry to their stables. We will have a frank discussion about my role in the Inquisition when we’ve returned to Skyhold._

Stuck in the corner, sweat running down the back of his stiff collar, he waited for a distraction to present itself. Minutes earlier an Inquisition messenger approached Leliana. Cullen’s stomach sunk as the bard’s face fall, color draining from her pale features. Without making eye contact with either of the other advisers, she exited the ballroom, covering her auburn hair with her hood at a running pace and had yet to return.

He trusted in Evelyn’s skills as their leader and her skills with her daggers, but they were in dangerous unknown territory. Cullen knew how easy it was for the lives of talented soldiers to be lost in the heat of combat.

 _Evelyn_. He tried not to dwell on the thought of her fighting throughout the palace walls but now struggled to think of anything else after watching Leliana rush out of the room. In a normal battle, he was lucky to be back at Skyhold with his general anxieties instead of the fear of knowing your loved one is fighting at this exact moment within your reach. At this point, he gave up any pretense of pretending to listen as the Orlesian nobles prattled on.

As the minutes ticked by, each of his heart beats boomed within his throat as it threatened to squeeze shut around him. His lungs fighting against every breath as the Orlesians continued to speak. Their voices cut him like shards of ice. Everything was out of control.

The ballroom spun around him while his feet remained stationary. The edges of his vision blurred as less oxygen made its way to his head. Gripping the edge of a dessert table, he counted each individual intake and exhale of breath until the spinning slowed and the overwhelming fear of hidden demons subsided. When his eyes focused on the nobles still clattering on, Cullen raised an annoyed eyebrow that none of his admirers noticed his sudden meltdown.

If he didn’t see Ev, unharmed, with his own eyes soon, he would lose his mind.

Evelyn remained out of his line of sight their entire time here. She explained during their travel to the palace she would have a room near Grand Duke Gaspard as befitting her station and rumors of the Inquisitor and the Commander together could be disastrous to any attempts of Josephine’s gaining allies through casual slips of the tongue in mentioning potential marriage alliances.

As ridiculous as it was, any questioning of the Inquisitor’s purity could equal lives lost on the battlefield for them later.

It was disgusting. She was no one’s property.

The whole build-up to the Winter Palace drained her to empty. While raised in the Game, everyone in the Inquisition knew failure was not an option. Someone must leave these talks in charge of Orlais if they were to weather the storm coming. Cullen’s job here was to send orders to his Lieutenants and look _pretty_  as Leliana pointed out to him on multiple occasions.

In comparison, Ev expectations were to be a leader, a warrior, a diplomat, an investigator, and a negotiator all while stabbing Venatori in a ball gown and high heels. Day after day she pushed herself too hard, and he knew if there were any mistakes in how the peace talks played out that Evelyn would take the brunt of the blame for her lack of preparation, regardless of her performance. He didn’t envy her for one second.

She withdrew from him on the journey to the Grand Duke’s Villa. Her behavior the night before their departure still bothering him until she dragged him by the hand into her carriage. Throwing herself into his arms before the door closed. As his lips parted her wine-flavored ones, relief bubbled up in his chest, releasing the sense of dread that culminated when she sprinted out of his office in the early hours of the morning with tear-filled eyes.

Cullen understood what it was like to live haunted by demons whether real or imagined. Evelyn needed time off after the peace talks concluded before her ability to do her job was affected.

 _Time off_. 

Just the phrase drew an aching longing from his chest. He loved his work, but there’s only so long you can pour your everything into a goal before you have nothing left. He shook Cassandra’s hand a broken man, fear, and anger filling his eyes when he joined the Inquisition. Years later, he’d made progress  letting that fear go, made harder by giving lyrium up as he joined. Withdrawal still reared its ugly head at him daily, as a headache flitting over the edge of his brain reminded him, but he was closer to destroying that leash than ever before.

How much of his progress did he owe to Evelyn? To protect and advise her, Cullen dug deep into his broken spirit, finding a strength he hadn’t known he could harness. When giving in to his addiction tempted him, it was the thought of her that kept his boots traveling in the correct direction.

Maybe after the palace, he could talk Evelyn into traveling with him. A way to thank her, taking the weary load off her shoulders for one day. Skyhold wasn’t far from where he grew up and if he was convincing, the other advisers might allow Evelyn and him to travel to the area. There was a lake where he spent so many hours as a child he would love to take her to.

Closing his eyes, he could see her sitting on the edge of the dock. Boots and socks off, trailing her feet across the top of the water. A smile beaming on her face while the sun set the red of her hair on fire in its rays. Cullen always found her beautiful, but the thought of her dressed down and relaxed in the sun in his old stomping ground brought a content smile to his face in the middle of this parade of deceptions.

Opening his eyes, he groaned at seeing the waves of Orlesians still vying to get his attention. They moved closer to him, violating any common-sense knowledge of personal space. He prepared to give any excuse necessary when he saw a ponytail of pure moonlit hair moving towards him, weaving through the crowds.

Part of him relaxed to see an uncovered face among the throngs of beast-like nobles while his heart tightened when any Inquisition messenger approached. Idalya pushed her way through the crowd of his admirers and popped out between two women whose faces curled back with disgust at the proximity to an elf. From behind her, she pulled her arm trailing behind and a much smaller elf stepped out from behind her. Dark hair and similar dress to the Inquisition scouts- her eyes red from falling tears.  _Something was happening_.

The Warden, just a servant to those surrounding them, didn’t wait to be addressed first, as was proper in Orlais. “Cullen, this girl is a spy of Briala’s. She knows dangerous information and almost lost her life to the Game once tonight. The Inquisitor wants her under your protection until testimonies.” Cullen struggled to hear her whisper over the scoffs of the crowd who dispersed around him instead of risking being seen so close to a servant, much less an elven one. 

 _I must thank her for that later_. 

The lines on the elf’s face were harsh, a concealed anger brewing beneath the surface of her words as she held her composure. Cullen was floored by how beautiful she looked when he retrieved her earlier and now found radiating guilt from the weariness stripping away her vibrancy within these cursed halls. She should not have come here; she wasn’t prepared for this.

_Maker, I hope It_ _’s time, we all need to leave here to reduce our losses._

“Thank you, Dal,” his voice came out scratchy and parched. His fear taking hold in his throat growing tighter each moment as his fear for Evelyn’s safety and his equal anger at her commands took hold. “Have you heard anything about the Inquisitor?”

The Warden flinched at Ev’s title as though the mere thought of her burnt the elf to her core. She shook her head, not meeting his eyes, her hands fisted at her sides. Cullen sighed with a sense of guilty relief, knowing Leliana would have her beloved friend out of the building the moment Evelyn was hurt or lost. Cullen pushed the thought far from his mind. He needed to focus on the Empress they were there to save.

“Dal, head back to your station.”

“No.” She responded, a dark-skinned elf in servant’s dress, with insubordination in front of a crowd of shocked Orlesians, her hand held in front of the other elf protecting her from an unseen enemy.

Cullen waited to see if they would call for guards or if they would let him deal with this developing situation. Cullen knew little of the Game, but most of what he learned from Evelyn, Leliana, and Josephine comprised someone knowing their place and regarding those of higher station with the respect their culture deemed fit.  

When all the Orlesians remained motionless, it was safe to proceed. Dal being thrown into an Orlesian prison was the last thing the Inquisition needed. This was a country whose Empress burned down an entire alienage, killing hundreds of sleeping elves, to send a message to a political rival. What would they do to a defiant Elven servant in view of nobles from throughout Orlais? A sudden wave of nausea gagged him as he pushed out of his mind the image of his once savior being dragged to the hangman’s gallows.

“Servant,” he prayed to the Maker Dal understood what he was doing. “Both of you follow me.” Channeling his “Commander” tone put the nobles at ease as the servant was put back in her place. 

He squared his shoulders and marched towards the front doors praying no guards would follow. Idalya’s expression was more reminiscent of Solas than of her more humorous self.

“I’m sorry about that Dal…”

“It’s fine.” She cut him off before he could finish, and he frowned, his concern growing over what caused this torment to his friend.

“It’s not. Now that the whimpering Orlesians are gone- what’s happened?”

Idalya looked down after his question, the creases in her face deepening as his eyes caught on the blood stains on her once emerald slippers. “Too many innocent lives have been lost today. The world has changed little in the decade I was gone. I’m ready for this to end.”

 _That was something both could agree on_.

It was a dangerous question to ask, but with Evelyn, he couldn’t help himself: “What happened with the Inquisitor?”

A flash of rage poured over her as the words tumbled past his lips was immediate, but he needed to know Evelyn was okay somewhere in this monstrous building or he feared his own emotions would come apart at the seams at the thought of her broken body laying somewhere while the halls.

“She…,” Idalya paused as she looked up into Cullen’s eyes. It was frightening how much pain swirled through her lavender ones. “she was less empathetic about those lost.”

He exhaled as his eyes closed, needing a brief respite from the cascade of emotion threatening to drown him.  _Of course, that happened_. Idalya would risk her life to save everyone around her while Evelyn could name the number of people, on one hand, she would consider personal sacrifice for.

Cullen understood why she feared to let people in but couldn’t help being frustrated as her advisor when troop losses were nothing but numbers to her logic. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger until the pain centered his focus.

“Okay, you can stay here with…,” he stared at the dark-haired elf drawing a blank if Dal spoke her name.

“Sia.” The young girl spoke up timid behind the Warden.

“Thank you, Sia,” Cullen said carefully to acknowledge the girl who cowered behind Idalya. He turned back to the Warden. “Dal, stay here with Sia and make sure she remains safe. I believe the time for action is close. Are you prepared to fight if needed?”

Idalya cocked an eyebrow and slid her hand along the side of her skirts producing a thin Silverite dagger strapped to her thigh. A chill crested over his spine as the blank expression remained on Idalya’s face. Whatever she experienced within the palace was dismantling the guard Dal kept up to the rest of the world.

The weight on the warrior’s shoulders and conscience were tremendous, but she kept her sanity by surrounding herself with friends and her sense of humor. Now stripped of both, she concerned the Commander. He knew the dangerous look flitting through her eyes. That look of self-control eroding in a person as their self-destructive tendencies carried them through their grief and pain.

“Good.” He swallowed roughly.

A blur passed by the corner of his vision and he tracked it to find the Spymaster standing in the entrance to the ballroom, a glare of annoyance directed at the Warden who knew she was standing behind her but refused to acknowledge her best friend.

With a nod to Idalya, he walked forward to greet Leliana. “Don’t even ask,” he mumbled upon arriving next to her as the two of them turned and surveyed the two elves.

“Idalya, keep your back guarded as the violence draws closer.” The Spymaster spoke in controlled notes, her Orlesian accent thicker than usual. “The Templars will arrive soon to help… If they still live.” _That was what it took_.

The blank expression dissolved from Dal’s face revealing the compassion and grief she always held so close to her heart, her eyes filled with regret and guilt at her realization over how the rage had taken her away from herself.

Leliana stepped close to the elf, so they were only inches apart. “Don’t let your grief let you lose sight of what still lives. Vengeance will distract you from protecting what is struggling to thrive.” Her whisper hit Cullen like a shock wave.

A slight tremor ran through the Spymaster’s body and Cullen realized Leliana’s words spoke of her own regret of losing herself in her work for the Divine after losing her beloved warden. Every member of the Inquisition had lost something vital to their being, but they kept going because it was their duty, required of them. They pushed on, they kept fighting because Thedas depended on them doing so. Every day people in their company lost companions, lovers, and children- each piece breaking them a little more. Hundreds died as Haven burnt to the ground. But still, they fought.

Cullen let his vengeance and trauma consume him in Kirkwall under Meredith’s command. Demonized those he vowed to protect. Cassandra and Leliana took a risk handing the Commander’s helm to him. A man who cowered at the memory of who he once was and the man he could be. People called him a hero for standing up to Meredith at the last moment and in front of him stood a true hero who had laid down her life without question to save all of Ferelden. 

_Maker, I swear to you I will not let her end up on the same path._

“Can you do this? I understand if you cannot.” Leliana’s whisper drew him out of thoughts.

The Warden drew back her shoulders, rolling them in place to get her circulation restarted from her tense position. “I’m here.” She sounded like Idalya again, her confidence reinstated, though her eyes spoke of the pain she would have to confront later. “Seeing death has a different impact after you’ve done it yourself.”

A punch struck him in the center of his mass as he processed the weight of his friend’s words. _She was falling apart_. Her time in the Inquisition controlled, protecting her until ready to face the Archdemon. Cullen couldn’t imagine the fear gripping the elf as she stared at the dead. Seeing them with new eyes.

Mid response Dal’s face tilted to the side, the look of once-faded anger taking over again. Evelyn was returning to the ballroom, Idalya’s ears hearing her approach before any visible sign. A second later his eyes caught her fiery auburn curls as she marched her way back into the beating heart of Orlais.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


	26. The Chapter Where the Venatori Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Peace Talks have reached their climax. Who will leave the night leading Orlais?

Dorian, Blackwall, and Sera followed behind the Inquisitor, a mixture of disgust and helplessness warring on their faces. Halamshiral was not what they prepared for. Orlesian duelists tip-toeing through the shadows was more suited to Leliana’s training than Cullen’s “hit them as hard as possible” mentality.

Though having Evelyn within his sight healed his heart, seeing the harsh lines pressed into her face caused a new level of unease. It was rare for Ev to show when the pressure of leadership got to her, but she was struggling to keep her thoughts concealed. As she approached Cullen and Leliana, Dal backed away into the candlelit shadows of the foray.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana gave a formal bow to her leader knowing every set of eyes were watching. “Were you able to find what you needed?”

“And more…” Evelyn curled her hand, her fingers tensing reflexively. A grimace pulled at the corners of her lips.

Dorian reached out, taking her fingers in his own to inspect her knuckles over the remnants of an injury. She recoiled, ripping her hand back to her side. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his cousin before shrugging and resuming his position back with Evelyn’s companions, whose flat expressions said more than words allowed.

“The time is now,” Evelyn spoke as Josephine joined the group. “I have seen enough to move forward. We must be on our most cautious behavior as we enter. Inquisition, wait for my signal.”

Cullen’s stomach dropped at her words. His active nature demanded something happen soon, but action meant Evelyn’s life on the line once more. The thought of losing her gripped Cullen in fear. What started as an attraction, a distraction to push aside his struggle with lyrium addiction, turned into so much more than he ever expected or hoped.

“Commander, are you ready on my word?”

“I am always at your call, my Lady.”

She acknowledged him with a nod, their eyes meeting for the first time since arriving. His heart swelled at the fear lingering in her olive eyes.  _It_ _’s almost over, Ev. It’s almost over._  It was painful resisting the urge to reach out and take her within his arms- to caress the softness of her skin and feel her safe, one moment where he pretended he could protect her from those seeking to tear her down.

“Thank you.” She was quiet, her eyes flooding with unspoken emotions.

Her hair had fallen from the intricate web of braids nestled on her head and now billowed over her shoulder in loose ringlets. She’d shocked the court by refusing to wear a mask, a message she viewed herself above the Game, but her wild hair added to the display, making her more dangerous to the casual observer.

Her defiance only made her more beautiful to him. The harder she pushed back against the expectations applied to her to as a woman leading the Inquisition, the harder he’d fallen for her. She was as essential to him as the air he breathed. His heart pushing through each beat to draw him closer to the next time he saw her again.

She broke eye contact to verify the plan with Josephine and Leliana. Everyone would hold until her signal. What she was waiting for, Cullen did not know, but it was not his job to question his leader’s directions.

At her motion, her companions dispersed throughout the crowd, blending into the activities as they waited for her signal. The Inquisitor turned on her heel, her shoulders back, chin pointed prominently as she entered the ballroom. The crowds quieted, parting to make room for the woman who thought herself better than the Orlesian nobles around her. She walked by the sea of masks without paying them heed, her heels clicking echoes in their silence.

Evelyn approached the peace talks where Celene, Gaspard, and Briala were still in negotiations. Each sway and swing of her full hips dragged him further with each deliberate step. Her black and gold dress hugged her curves and held none of the modesty seen in Ferelden for these affairs.

Rylen asked him once if he was jealous watching Ev paraded for the nobles' enjoyment. He’d responded that as different as they were, he trusted her instincts. She made her own decisions as Inquisitor and chose him. He wasn't jealous. He was blessed by the hand of the Maker that a woman of her caliber wasted her time on a broken man like him.

When she called him out on his feelings for her during their last night in Skyhold, he hadn’t intended for that to be the way he expressed the depth of his emotions. He avoided lying if he could. Withholding his knowledge of Idalya was enough to break him in guilt. He understood why Leliana begged him to withhold the information. Evelyn turned away no opportunities to push her goals forward.

Cullen winced at the thought of Ev dangling the King of Ferelden’s dead lover in front of Alistair’s face while demanding his military force. Leliana committed treason against Ferelden when she stole the remains of her best friend from the royal crypt of Denerim. Idalya was a dangerous pawn for Ev to have at her disposal.

He didn't know why Ev had yet to negotiate over Dal. She only held her cards tight against her breast when she had a specific use for them later. Whatever her purpose for Dal was, it would be dangerous for the young Warden.

As Ev rose over the stairway to enter the peace talks, Cullen kept seeing her in flashes from his fantasy, resting next to the water of the home he grew up in. A sun-warmed smile and joy written upon her face, instead of the mask of stress and disgust occupying it.

He swore he’d make her role easier. To find a moment she could let her guard down. The longing for a holiday together was a deep need to remove her mantle from her shoulders. To let her fill her chest with air empty of expectations.

Cullen was the guiltiest of stacking too many responsibilities on her plate. When she first joined, he pushed one mission after another to improve their organization’s visibility. Each time she came back after achieving everything they asked and more, she returned wearier and less trusting than her last visit.

People could question her style, but never her outcomes. She produced results no matter the task. His throat grew dry watching her converse with the Empress, his brain superimposing the image of Haven burning around her as she ran out to fight Corypheus.

She left with an entire volunteer battalion of soldiers and returned alone a day later as the flurries of snow threatened to swallow her life forever into the mountain, claiming one last victim for Corypheus.  _This is different. This is the Game, not an avalanche._

The crowd murmured before settling into silence. Negotiators rose to their feet, heading to the front platform elevated above the dance floor. Celene wore a dignified smirk, while Gaspard wore a blank expression under his golden mask, and Briala’s lips curled back in anger. It appeared the outcome the Inquisition expected was coming to fruition.

Joining them, Duchess Florianne and the Inquisitor made their way to the front. Cullen’s eyes glued to Evelyn’s every movement, waiting for her signal, as Celene waited for silence from the room. The energy filled with a tension so tight it brought memories of being locked in Kinloch tower cascading back into his head.

“My dear Orlesians,” the Empress began. Her brilliant sapphire skirts and silver mask set her apart from those standing around her. As eyes in the room sealed to her every move, the members of the Inquisition kept theirs peeled awaiting the Venatori’s ambush.

Ev’s eyes caught his across the room. He saw a sadness hidden in her depths, she never allowed him to see. With a blink, his guarded love returned.

“Our country has been held in limbo as battles carved the landscape of our beautiful home into bloody battlefields. Today my regents and I have come together to build a plan to end this violence.” The crowd applauded her words as hushed whispers grew around Cullen. “A compromise to bring peace to Orlais and end this civil war!”

The applause grew deafening as Cullen watched Evelyn. He knew every signal, every command, but none were issued. She looked calm and at ease, a great contrast from the woman who entered the ballroom with the weight of Thedas balanced on her shoulders.

Celene motioned to the group behind her, “Come forward so we can celebrate this victory together.”

Gaspard and Briala advanced on Celene’s right, while Florianne and Evelyn approached from her left.

“None of this could have been accomplished without the challenging work and focus on Orlais that all have shown tonight. Gaspard,” she turned to face her cousin. “I know we haven’t seen eye to eye on many things over the years, but I am grateful for your help in leading Orlais’ armies to fight the darkspawn magister.”

Cullen saw a shuffling of movement behind Celene’s left shoulder, but Evelyn remained stationary, a noble’s smile adorning her face mirroring the surrounding masks.

“No greater military leader has ever existed in the history of our fine country and you will continue to do so…” Celene’s mouth dropped open forming a loose _O_.

His heart sunk into his chest as the crimson pool formed across the bodice of her dress. Every breath was a lifetime as the Empress took one staggering step forward before tumbling over the banister. Her vibrant blue silks billowed through the air before her body hit the polished wooden floors of the palace.

His eyes flicked the banister above to see Evelyn sink her steel dagger deep into Florianne’s heart. The Duchess crumpled to the floor, her arm flinging out to the side as the dagger used to stab Celene rolled out of her hand over the banister to land next to the Empress' unmoving body.

Screams rang out in the palace. Some nobles fled while others pressed closer to see their leader bleeding out into the night. Cullen’s limbs were numb as he pushed forward, scattering the nobles ahead of him.

Arriving at the Empress’ body, Leliana swooped past him, dropping to her knees as she held out a trembling hand towards Celene’s neck while watching the pool of blood collect around the woman. She glared up over the balcony at Evelyn, with a grunt of frustration, who looking on the scene with a blank expression covering her face.

A wail of despair escaped past Josephine’s lips. Leliana turned and wrapped her arm around her friend’s waist to pull her back from the scene in front. Blackwall appeared from behind, a stoic look signaling he expected no outcome different in Orlais and led the shocked Ambassador away from the crowds of Orlesian nobles.

Cullen couldn’t breathe. Oxygen disappeared from the room as his eyes met Evelyn’s. Evelyn stood and watched as Florianne thrust her dagger into the Empress’ back before murdering the assassin. The members of the Inquisition could not have been the only people to watch this set of events happen.

His eyes floated across the crowd. The Orlesians now stood back in their usual positions, the whispered murmurs restarting over the newest victim of the Game. Leliana and Blackwall removed the grieving Josephine from the spectacle, Sera and Idalya gone, leaving only Dorian standing off to the side. A bewildered look on his face. A cruel laugh broke from Cullen’s throat, wildly inappropriate, at seeing his exact emotions portrayed on Dorian’s face. Whatever happened in the Winter Palace tonight, Dorian was not a party to.

Cullen stepped back from the Empress’ cooling body as a file of servants swooped in carrying a travel cot. Together they lifted the body before covering her with a sheet and filing out of the ballroom. The other servants scrubbed on their hands and knees to clean the large pool of blood from the floor as the nobles around resumed their normal conversations like nothing out the ordinary just happened. 

What the fuck was wrong with Orlais? They watched their leader die and now they’re discussing the dining service from a salon last week.

_Fuck this place, I hope it burns to the ground._

The finish on the floor sparkled as the servants exited the festivities. Cullen searched behind him unable to locate any other members of the Inquisition. Dorian still stood against the far wall of the ballroom staring at the empty mark on the floor where moments before a dying woman lain.

He peered at the top of the podium where Evelyn stood motionless returning his gaze. Nothing changed in her features, her thoughts running so deep it was impossible to differentiate from the surface. The two stared at one another, his eyes asking hers questions his lips could not speak.

The nobles quieted as Gaspard moved to the front of the podium beside Evelyn.

“Orlesians,” his deep voice boomed through the ballroom causing a shiver in Cullen’s spine. “Great tragedy has struck tonight, but we will not let it distract us from Celene’s vision of peace!” A polite applause and nod of heads swept through the crowd. “Celene wanted us to unite to fight our enemies and that we will be. I, Emperor Gaspard de Chalons, am proud to announce an alliance between the Orlesian throne and the Inquisition.”

Gaspard reached out taking Evelyn’s hand and raised it in the air as the crowd cheered, the hum of whispers suffocating Cullen. Evelyn smiled at Gaspard before he motioned to her to speak. She stepped forward, the crowd watching her with tense interest.

“Corypheus and his Red Templars are a threat to every human in Thedas. We must compile all resources available to defeat them. The Inquisition’s alliance with Orlais is the first major step needed to defeat our enemies and secure our lands!” She held her anchored hand in the air which sparked, illuminating the ballroom with her brilliant green light as the crowd clapped and cheered in adoration.

Cullen’s hand clutched at his chest as his heart thundered in his chest. Each erratic beat sent pain through his limbs as a headache pushed on the sides of his skull.  _How could she do this?_  There had to be a reason. There  _had_  to be.

She was their leader; she would not lead them astray, would she? They came here to secure an ally to beat back the sea of darkness threatening to sweep over their lands and she had. Just not in any way Cullen could have imagined.

Gaspard approached Evelyn’s left, a victorious grin floating across his lips as he wrapped his arm around Evelyn’s waist. His hand gripping her hip. Fingers pinching her flesh. She smiled back at him, her hair swaying in the breeze through the balcony doors.

Bile threatened to leap from Cullen’s throat. His feet backed up faster than he could register, running into the Dowager who gasped in surprise at the collision. He tried to issue an apology, but he _needed_ to leave this room. 

_Work. Focus on work_. 

Barris and Rylen were out there waiting on commands Cullen was incapable of giving. His men, his army needed him at his best. He needed to pull himself together in front of the gossiping Orlesians, but first, he needed answers.


	27. The Chapter Where Cullen Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen confronts the Inquisition demanding to know if they knew about Evelyn's future deception.

Waves of rage washing over Cullen, lapping at him like waves on the shore. She’d lied to them, to _him_ , as they’d laid out their plans as a team.

As he passed the crowds of remaining Orlesians in the foray, he overheard a group of nobles discussing how mighty the joining of the Inquisitor and Emperor of Orlais would be. They were entering the golden age of Orlais and Evelyn’s army would crush the Ferelden dogs beneath her heeled boots without mercy.

This couldn't have been the plan.

His headache was now pounding in his skull, blurring the edges of his vision, as his heavy footsteps lead him towards the minor office the Inquisition used as a base within the palace walls. He entered the room without knocking finding only Josephine, mahogany eyes still bloodshot from crying and attempting to collect herself, as Blackwall whispered into her ear, his hands resting on her biceps.

“Did you know?” He roared at their Ambassador. The sound echoing in the narrow crimson room. His plan to keep his anger in check until he found answers, but he was incapable of that at the moment.

Josephine’s eyes refilled with tears as she looked at Cullen helplessly. A firm shove to Cullen’s chest sent him reeling backward as Blackwall stood in front of his love without hesitation to defend her.

Cullen was begging for a fight, and he’d enjoy putting a fist into the warden’s hairy countenance without regret. With a grimace, he restrained himself as the haggard warrior moved closer to him to put more distance between him and Josephine. The fire coursing through his veins dulled recognizing the look of protectiveness that radiated out of Blackwall’s eyes- a look he often saw reflected on his own face around Evelyn. 

“Do you think any of us would have gone along with this charade if we had known? Our Inquisitor just let a woman be murdered in front of a live audience! This is not what we stand for!” Blackwall spat with venom. “You’re furious and want answers, but get in fucking line, _Commander_.”

Cullen respected the warden’s skills in battle, but at this moment as fury lit his eyes, he realized Gordon Blackwall was a dangerous man if you threatened what he cared about. With a growl, Cullen grabbed a ceramic vase close to him and flung it into the wall. It exploded. Pieces of ceramic dispersing through the room as Josephine screamed and covered her ears. Tears falling harder from her desperate eyes.

The door opened between them and before Cullen could turn, a sharp dagger pressed against the underside of his chin.

“Are you playing us as well? Are you some kind of lapdog with no morals?” The Spymaster was panting as she leveled each precise word at Cullen. “She let Florianne kill Celene! We saw it! We warned her Gaspard was dangerous, and she’s aligned our entire organization to him and Orlais.”

With a grunt he shoved her dagger out of the way as he glared at the rogue. “I knew _nothing_ , but now it’s too late.” His hands curled into fists at his side. “What kind of spymaster are you anyway, Leliana? With a traitor right in front of your nose. Whether you did or didn’t know, you fail either way don’t you?”

Leliana’s eyes filled with rage at his comments, winning a verbal joust against the Spymaster would have him bursting at the seams with smug joy, but he felt his anger emptying, running through his limbs out onto the polished floor below him like Celene’s blood had.

Rage was always brief before it would crumble away leaving him alone in his decisions again. They knew nothing. For all he knew the entire palace was teeming with spies and all Evelyn could trust was herself. He would not point fingers or accuse until he heard it from her lips. She was their leader, and he had to believe this was best for the Inquisition until shown otherwise.

He had to believe for his own sake or _Maker help him_.

“What do we do?” he shrugged helpless to the situation as he resigned himself to what reality the truth would bring. A soft, but shaking, a hand rested on his forearm and he looked down into Josephine’s bloodshot and tear-lined eyes.

“We do our job, Commander, and play the Game.” He covered her hand with his large and callused one and nodded. _She was right_.

They still had a job to do. Venatori were hunting the halls of the palace. They needed to be visible to those who would dare strike at the Inquisition sensing weakness.

“We need to go back out there and act like everything went to plan before anyone suspects there’s discord in our regime,” Josephine spoke, her voice much stronger than her trembling hands conveyed.

Leliana walked over to him and smoothed his curls back, disheveled from running his hands through the strands. She swept the shards of the broken vase off his Inquisition uniform with a soft touch.

“I’m sorry, Cullen.” She spoke soft words not meeting his eyes. “you deserve better.” He had no words for her. What he _deserved_ at this moment was the truth...

Cullen stood in silence, his body stiff, as she walked to Josephine. She slid her thin fingers into her friend’s trembling hand and led her back into the foyer. Blackwall approached him from behind and clasped him on the shoulder as the two men took their time reentering the Game.

*****

Hours passed, and the crowds were beginning the dwindle down over the excitement seen at the peace talks. Noble after noble told him this would be talked about for years and how excited they were to have witnessed the Empress’ death in person.

 _I fucking hate Orlesians_.

Talking to one minor noble at a time kept him distracted from Evelyn who spent most of the last hours waltzing across the dance floor on Gaspard’s arm. When they weren’t dancing, Gaspard spoke to groups of enthusiastic backers for his campaign to become Emperor, all the while keeping a possessive hand on Evelyn at all times. As the crowds made their way out of the palace, Cullen took the chance to exit this ridiculous building before the urge to burn it all down became too great.

The fresh air he gulped into his lungs was a gift from the Maker. The path out of the back exit of the ballroom leads him to a stone walkway that lead around the palace to the Templar and soldier camps set up to the South. Music from the ballroom drifted down through the open balcony doors and Cullen found his feet walking in the rhythm of sweet harmonies despite how _fucked_ his night had been.

Around the corner, there was a plateau stretching out far below the balcony across the land. Not far in the distance, he spotted a figure standing against the image of the setting sun. Her now loose iridescent hair splayed over her shoulders, making Idalya recognizable even across the trimmed grass.

His feet steered him towards her. She swayed in time with the orchestral music flowing over them like the overlapping waves of the sea. Her Inquisition jacket removed, laying on the ground at her feet, her arms wrapped around her in the cool breeze.

Gooseflesh across the tops of her arms and behind her neck from standing in the cold. Her shoes and ankles were still stained with blood, but her chin was held up proudly despite what she’d experienced tonight. Cullen made careful steps toward her out of respect knowing she heard him the minute he stepped foot on the path.

Cullen couldn’t help but compare her to Evelyn. Two women who were both strong leaders, and yet so different. Evelyn ruled from fear- a fear of being powerless and cornered, she would do whatever it took to not be helpless. Dal lead with her heart. She was the hardest worker in his army, but she showed a gentle hand and empathy to those unworthy of it, as he remembered from first-hand experience.

 _She would not have let Celene die_ _tonight_.

The thought twisted his heart to pieces, but without doubt, it was true. She would have done everything to ensure no one died in the palace who didn’t have to. For Dal, there was no acceptable collateral damage. Every soldier she trained on the field had a name, a background, a family waiting at home for them.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. If he started this path, he’d drive himself insane. He would let her explain why things ended the way they had. There must be a reason. 

He stopped a few feet away and looked out over the rolling acres of manicured gardens, “How are you doing?”

“I’m shaken.” She shook her head in annoyance. “Seeing those servants plus our outcome was unexpected. I thought I wanted to see the world outside Skyhold. I was wrong.” Her hands gripped her forearms, so the indentions drained of color.

“Dal, I’m sure Evelyn has her reasons,” he wondered if there was a point to say the words he feared out loud. “She investigated much further into the palace than we did, there must have been something else she found… I have to believe that.”

“Do you?” She turned to face him, an eyebrow raised in shock.

“Yes, I do. I am here serving the Inquisition to atone for the previous griefs I’ve caused others. I chose Evelyn as our leader and I love her so I have to keep faith that all of this was in our best interests… or I don’t know what I will do.”

Her face softened at his words as she empathized with his current plight while her own demons plagued her.

“This is a good look for you. You're much less threatening out of thirty pounds of armor” There was a smile on her lips, but Cullen saw the sadness stinging her eyes even as he rolled his at her. Humor was her shield. She’d use it to protect herself until her dying breath.

“The ridiculous nobles inside agree with you.” He snorted out. _This felt good._ One moment to speak like the world wasn’t crumbling down around them, the ground threatening to spiral away.

“They have your dance card filled all night, Commander?” She grinned at him, each moment morphing back into herself. The two recognized the other’s pain and persevere.

“Oh, they tried!” Cullen chuckled warmly, “but I avoided them the entire night, but not their wandering hands.” His tone turned bitter.

Idalya laughed, a calming sound melting into the music flowing around them as she rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head where Leliana bound her hair impossibly tight. It was rare to see her hair down, he found it lovely. The white ends trailed against the small of her back, loose waves reflecting the growing moonlight so she looked magical, or more so than she already did. 

“So you’re telling me, you show up to the fanciest ball in all of Thedas, dressed like a prince from a fairytale then deny those wound up Orlesians the chance to dance with the dashing Commander of the Inquisition? You’re a cruel man, Cullen. _I like you_.” She laughed loudly this time, which helped heal cracks in his guilty heart as he watched her crooked smirk.

He was a broken man incapable of picking up the pieces anymore, but if he helped her or anyone else maybe it wouldn’t matter as much.

“What can I say? I can’t tolerate Orlesians. Ferelden women are much more beautiful and don’t have to hide their features behind hideous masks. I suppose I didn’t find the right partner to dance with.”

_Even without a mask, people still hide who they are._

“Trying to win my favor, Commander? Nice try, I can’t dance.” She poked him firmly in his chest and he squinted in discomfort unused to being without his protective breastplate.

Cullen grabbed her hand, pulling her forward. “That works out since neither can I.”

Dal tried to protest, but he took her hand in his as he placed her other on his shoulder and then his at her waist. He mumbled the count under his breath and tried to move with her, immediately stepping on her foot. A barking laugh rose out of her as Cullen readjusted stubbornly and attempted to start again before stepping on her other foot after only three steps. 

“Wow, you’re _te_ rrible at this.” She choked on laughter and he couldn’t imagine a more wonderful sound to hear. Maybe saving the hero, would help him someday save himself.  “Here let me lead.”

She whispered the count under her breath before leading him into the steps of the waltz. When Cullen lost the timing, she steered him back on course as though she was born on a dance floor. They waltzed around the garden as the orchestra continued their tirade of Orlesian tunes.

“You’re a great dancer,” Cullen said flatly.

“It appears so” she mumbled.

“You don’t remember?” His heart ached anew for the impossible girl who led his moving feet across the land. A girl who had lost so much. He had lost Evelyn, but he held tightly to their memories and that was something she could never take away from him.

“I don’t remember learning, but there’s a lot of things I don’t remember…” her voice faded as she looked out over his shoulder her face softening and a hint of a smile ghosting over her rose-colored lips.

_She deserved to know about Alistair. Maybe this was that moment._

“Speaking of that…” Leliana warned him of the consequences of having Idalya remember too much too fast, but he didn’t _fucking_ care anymore.

Who were they to withhold something so precious from her? Withholding information is what deceitful people did, it’s what Evelyn did.

“Dal, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you…”


	28. The Chapter Where Idalya Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is interrupted, and Idalya questions the correct path for a woman whose destiny is larger than herself.

A throat cleared behind the dancing pair, echoing into the surrounding vastness. Cullen turned to see Barris cutting a striking figure in the rising moonlight behind him and understood what spurred the change in Dal.

“Can I step in?” Barris bowed, his eyes never leaving the Warden like she would float away on the breeze if his eyes strayed. Her smile was infectious, eyes projecting more happiness than the entire time he’d known her, which at that moment meant everything to Cullen.

“Of course, Ser Barris.” A flush of pink spread over her cheeks as she extended her hand to him.

Barris removed his dress gloves with haste, shoving them into Cullen’s chest as he stepped forward eager to take her hand as Cullen laughed. She peered up at him. Though he was smiling, she saw the fake facade of the man whose soul was crying out for answers. She reached her other hand out to catch Cullen’s as he turned to leave them to their happiness. As he turned, he knew his sorrow was unmasked in his features. 

Dal whispered, “Cullen, someday you’ll find the right dancing partner. I know you will.” He inhaled and turned to leave as he patted Barris on the shoulder, his boots stepping back onto the stone path leading back to the barracks. He hoped to find Rylen in need of help to keep his mind occupied until the sun rose over the camp.

This would be a long night, withdrawal being the least of _his concerns._

_*****_

Barris placed his hand into hers with a gentle touch while his other took her waist. Her cheeks burned as a flush spread across her chest and back, his warmth emanating from the thick woven fabric into her flesh. He squared his shoulders to hers, waiting for some signal, some sign not to proceed. When no sign of resistance appeared, his hesitation melted away as he twirled her across the courtyard.

She’d watched him perform countless spars but found him light and graceful as he moved in perfect rhythm with her. Everything else melted away until only the distant music of the orchestra prevailed over the pounding in her ears.

The music slowed down into a slower melody. Barris pulled her forward until her body was flush against his. She sighed as she gave in to temptation and rested her cheek against his broad chest. One of his arms slid around her waist while the other hugged her shoulders.

She breathed him in, leather, stiff linens, and a drifting scent of steel. Her cheek pushed by his expanding lungs and she smiled as he rested his on top of her head, his nose pressed to the hair tumbling like a waterfall down her back.

She felt out of place in this new world. A relic—dust-covered and unnecessary. He made her feel alive, vital and struggling. This was the spot fate intended for her, every disaster she survived carrying her to this moment. Their bodies fusing together by some unspoken element.

A wind blew across the terrace carrying a biting chill from the mountains and Dal shuddered in his arms. They had stopped dancing and were holding one another as the insane world passed around them. There were no armies, no dead Empresses, no darkspawn, no dragons… just Idalya and Delrin. She would accomplish everything the Inquisition threw at her if he was by her side.

She unwrapped her arms from around him and placed them on his chest. The curve of her lips raised at the pounding of her his heart beneath her scarred fingers. Words escaped her. In his presence, she was not confident or sure. She was clumsy, tripping over words as they exited her tongue.

She was a fragile object just one crack away from breaking apart into a million pieces. Barris was gentle with her like she was precious. The softness that clouded all his actions with her was about his emotions and not his concerns over her frailty.

She leaned up to look at him, his eyes bored into hers with an emotion she was too afraid to read even if they were desperate to tell her. What if she had misunderstood this? She watched Cullen’s hopes and dreams bleed out on floor alongside Celene’s tonight. What gave him strength in one strike had become his greatest weakness.

Maybe she was a misguided hero-worship; a drinking story to boast with the Templars later. The broken part of her did not care. She understood that he might use her, but she couldn’t stop herself. His touch made her skin electric, currents streaking through her limbs. She’d lived in a nightmare since waking and he was the only thing she’s found that calmed her fears and doubts. What did I matter if he held that much power over her?

He cast his eyes away from hers, overwhelmed by contact. A smile fluttered across her lips as her fingers drifted over his heart, her own surging at the rush of power at his beating erratically at her touch. Having the Templar out of his uniform was a good thing, something she’d miss when they returned to Skyhold when the daily regime of training would take over their lives again. A Templar out of uniform was a novelty, they felt weakened without their defenses, which now, put them on an equal footing.

With a sharp inhale, he turned his head to face her, the arm around her shoulders moving away. The chill of the air painful as it brushed across where his heat abandoned her. His hand came up and gently guided a loose piece of hair out of her face over her shoulder as he searched her eyes.

His hand hovered over her skin before he let his fingertips ghost over her cheekbones, his palm settling over her cheek. Her skin warming against his touch, lips parting as the universe pulled them closer.

 _She wanted this man_. She’d take anything this gorgeous Templar would give her and it would never be enough.

All her senses at overload- eyes glued to his deep emerald eyes, the smell of leather and steel, the pounding of his heart strumming beneath her fingers, the sounds of his shallow gasps matching her own.

In this chaos, she was desperate to know what he tasted like. If she stood up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, she wondered if her repaired heart would cease beating for good? The thought of her tongue sliding along the ridge of his lower lip caused her to clench her thighs together.

 _This is enough, no, it_ _’s not enough_.

Just touching would never be enough. The pace of her heart made her head spin as she swayed on her feet. Barris tightened his arm around her, pulling her against his muscular frame. Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip to keep from groaning. Barris’ eyes flicked down to her lips before locking back on hers, a hunger spreading through the emerald ponds.

Her body burned as his heat spread through her limbs. His muscles twitched around her trying to hold his self-control in place. _She didn_ _’t want him too_. What would unleash the Templar? To throw aside his forced gentleness? She did not need to be treated like she would shatter at the merest bobble.

She was certain she’d kissed this man in the carriage. But she needed him to give her some sign that this was what he also wanted. _What was he so afraid of?_

His thumb ran over the perimeter of her cheek as his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he closed the distance between them painstakingly slow. He used his fingers to tilt her head back, and he rested his forehead against hers. Their noses touched, and both closed their eyes, gasping for breath from their minor contact.

She found comfort she might have the same effect he had on her. He drew closer, the edge of his velvet lips connecting with the corner of her mouth as she sighed. 

His head jerked back, surprise filling his eyes. She drowned in an ocean of self-doubt as he looked her, concern replacing his previous emotions.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Dal.”

Her heart smashed at his words, teeth biting down into her lower lip to keep her vulnerabilities from spilling out. This wasn’t what she hoped for- what she needed him to be. Idalya stepped back from him defensively and as he reached for her, she sidestepped and continued moving away.

It was only when she reached a shaking hand up to cover her mouth she discovered the streams of tears pouring from her eyes. Frozen in the chilled air, she watched Barris approach her with apprehensive steps, his hands up to convey he was no danger. He stopped a few feet away, worry etched into every line of his smooth ebony skin.

“I’m shouldn't have pushed you into something you weren’t ready for.” His fingers twitched at his sides as he contemplated reaching out to her.

“Wait… _what_?” Now she was confused.

He pointed helplessly at her face. “You’re crying.”

“Yeah… I don’t know why I’m crying.” She would be honest with him no matter how much it hurt her later.

“So…” he ran a hand over the side of his hair as he searched for the correct words. “You weren’t crying because I... kissed you?”

“No,” she laughed, wiping the trails of ice from her freezing skin. “or maybe they’re tears of relief since you took so long.”

A deep blush bloomed high on his cheekbones as he stared at the grass like he had found the most interesting object ever. She smiled as his theatrics as he reminded her of Cullen.

He analyzed her for a moment before swallowing and closing the distance until their two bodies were touching again. She prayed to the Maker he intended to pick up where they left off before her eyes watered the overly manicured lawn. 

The world of only them cracked apart at the seams as loud clanging footsteps approached from the palace. In a heartbeat, Barris stepped away and she shuddered as the cold attacked every inch of her that was just connected to him. Turning to the stairway, she saw Cassandra and Blackwall approaching toward the barracks.

“Dal, there you are.” Her thick Nevarran accent was normally a welcome sound to her, but right now it meant work for the warriors. “You’re being summoned to meet with Leliana and Josephine in camp. It appears we may have side missions to address on the return trip to Skyhold.” _Of course, they did._

Cassandra straightened her soldiers and stood waiting for a response. The Seeker did not have to share her displeasure of the night’s outcome out loud- it was written everywhere in her expression. Idalya was afraid of what her voice would sound like as she attempted to speak but Barris spoke first.

“Thank you for your time, my Lady.” He bowed and turned to leave giving curt nods to both Cassandra and Blackwall.

“Barris?” He paused, his body stiff, with controlled movements he turned his neck to gaze at her. “Thank you, but,” she motioned to her servant’s dress, “I am no lady.” He looked at her thoughtfully and shook his head.

“I beg to differ. You are more of a Lady than the entirety of nobles in Orlais. They should strive to follow your example.” His sweet smile added one more crack to her deteriorating shell as he made his way back to the stairway and continued to where the Templars awaited him.

Blackwall laughed, a loud sound that made Dal cringe as the rest of the world came rushing back as the booming sound of her heart slowed. “That one is smooth for a Templar!” Cassandra made a disgusted noise and turned back to Dal.

“I’ll be down in a just a minute, Seeker. I need a minute to collect my thoughts before speaking.” Cassandra nodded in agreement, her eyes betraying a similar feeling of apprehension as she and Blackwall followed the path where Barris exited.

She turned back to the rolling hills, wrapping her arms around herself as she shuddered from the loss of Barris as much as the cold. Tears threatened to prick up behind her eyes, but she forced them back. This was not the time for such things. She was a tool of the Inquisition and she was getting lost in infatuations like a school girl that could amount to nothing since she was not sure she would even survive fighting Corypheus’ dragon.

 _What am I thinking_?

She shouldn’t get herself involved with someone in the inquisition. When you harbored attachments, it interfered with your decision making as a leader. No matter how much it might hurt, it was cleaner to stay away. It was easier to walk out and present yourself to die when there was nothing tethering you here.

Her head ached. All of this was too much. Evelyn, Celene, Barris… the attacks on her mind were relentless that night. Skyhold built her strength up to swing a sword and fight, but she found herself worried the contained environment shielded her from the fact that her own mind and heart were more fragile than her body.

With a forlorn sigh, she turned to follow on the path when she heard voices drifting down from the upper patio attached to the side of the palace. Above she spotted Evelyn standing at the edge of the deck, her elbows popped up on the banister ledge as Gaspard was standing behind her his arms wrapped around her waist as his lips whispered to the pale skin of her neck.

Dal locked eyes with the fiery redhead unsure of her emotions. She got her job done. Did collateral damage matter if you got the correct outcome? She had no answer, but maybe Evelyn didn’t either. Maybe the Inquisitor’s own strategy was aligning herself with the strongest ally she found when the opportunity arose.

Idalya cared for Cullen, but was it any of her business who Evelyn hurt as she tried to steer the Inquisition through these uncharted waters? No, no it wasn’t. _Maybe Evelyn was right that an involvement was only as important as what it helped you accomplish_.

As a grin spread across Evelyn’s crimson-stained lips, Idalya diverted her eyes away feeling more alone than ever. Evelyn might be correct, but it didn’t make her more palatable. The weight of the night was sinking her below the depths of what she could handle.

No amount of booze would drown her thoughts tonight, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t give it her best try.


	29. The Chapter Where Leliana is Confronted

“This partnership between Gaspard and the Inquisition is ingenious, how long has the plan been in the works? It made for an entertaining event. Nobles across Orlais will talk of nothing but your brass Inquisitor, who we presume will be the next Empress.” The Dowager tilted her head towards Leliana, her silver mask unchanging, as the bard smiled, her blood boiling inside her limbs.

“You know I’m not at liberty to say, Lady Mantillon.” She straightened the hem of her uniform. “The safety of the Orlais is foremost our goal in the Inquisition. We are proud to make the announcement of our partnership public tonight. Excuse me, work cannot be delayed all night due to a party, no matter how exceptional it is.”

After a curt bow and smile for the woman’s benefit, she excused herself from the Dowager’s eager eyes. If the old bat thought she would get any information from the Inquisition’s Spymaster, then she wasn’t as intelligent as she gave the woman credit for.

Cullen stood in the corner of the ballroom like a ticking time bomb, his emotions displayed for the world, and anyone trained in the Game until he had fled out the back door of the ballroom to the barracks.

She’d pity him if she wasn’t filled to the brim with anger and embarrassment at her own failures tonight. Her job was to know threats were coming before they arrived and twice she had failed the Inquisition- first Haven and now their own Inquisitor.

Hundreds of hours of planning had gone into this mission. _Maker_ , she even allowed her best friend, to be strung along as just another pawn in Evelyn’s game. Early in the night, she introduced Evelyn to Celene’s Occult Adviser, Dal’s former companion, Morrigan. She held her fear clutched inside that Evelyn would say something about Idalya joining the Inquisition, but the rogue’s distrust of magic had worked in Leliana’s favor. The mage never made eye contact and Evelyn kept her lips sealed.

Why _had_ she brought Idalya here? Was Dal’s true purpose to be among the slaughtered Elven servants? Yet another piece of collateral damage from Evelyn Trevelyan’s reign?

To avoid facing Cullen again, since she owed him one apology for shoving a dagger into his throat, she headed out the front doors. The air of superiority became stifling inside the ballroom as her lungs begged for air untainted with privilege and deception. She used to live for the Game; the thrill it gave her to be part of the machinations of Orlais. Now she felt used and bloodied by the system she was so eager once to excel in.

After her rage subsided watching Celene’s body carted off the dance floor like a broken goblet of wine, she knew her first assumption was correct that Josephine and Cullen were not part of Evelyn’s plan. The Inquisitor had taken the history of Thedas into her own hands without informing her advisers.

Leliana knew every detail of Gaspard’s history and would not have trusted him unless necessary for their survival. Briala was a far better choice to lead in the wake of Celene’s death as she wanted to better the lives of those living in Orlais. The man may be respected by his soldiers, but as far as politics, he gained zero respect from her. His obsessive need for the crown existed because he felt it was owed not out of any need to preserve Orlais. Gaspard’s end goal was starting a war with Ferelden and Evelyn handed him the reins of their army to do as he saw fit.

The further she moved from the eye of the palace the more inconsistent her breath became as the implications of tonight wracked themselves through her exhausted brain. Her silk slippers moved silently across the rocky path and though she heard no other echoes, she knew someone followed.

The presence followed her out the front doors of the palace and continued to track her as she made her way toward a garden area far to the side of the palace. If she fought, she would make sure it wouldn’t be visible to prying eyes.

When she entered an area with plenty of coverage, she turned on her heel, as quick as night, withdrawing and throwing her dagger at the chest of the figure moving in the dark toward her. Upon drawing close to connecting, the dagger fell out of midair uselessly as it hit a magical barrier.

The figure did not pause as they continued and exited from the dark into the clearing. Jet black hair, deep purple gown, and menacing golden eyes that narrowed as she stepped forwards into the light: _Morrigan_.

The last thing she needed was another classic lecture by the mage who thought too highly of her own opinion. Before Leliana could tell the woman to leave her sight, a force hit her square in the chest knocking her back into the tree trunk behind her. A violent crack exploded in her chest that knocked the rest of the air from her lungs.

She crumpled over, coughing, as she tried to draw air into her chest as Morrigan walked towards her, her flowing skirts swishing in the breeze.

It was not until she was standing over the struggling woman did she speak. “My, my… what has the Nightingale gotten herself into this time?”

Leliana glared up with disdain at the mage. They worked together because Thedas had needed them to. Morrigan’s face might look calm to those unaccustomed to her abrasiveness, but Leliana saw the fury brewing in the mage’s golden eyes.

“ _Did you think I would not know what you had done?_ ” Morrigan’s voice was dangerous as she came closer to the vulnerable Spymaster, her teeth bared.

Leliana tried to crawl towards her dagger that had tumbled free when thrown, but Morrigan kicked it aside out her reach as her fingertips stretched for the blade.

Some of her ribs had shattered when the mage threw her against the tree, poking holes through her unprepared lungs. _How could she have underestimated her?_ _In the Great Game, there was nothing more dangerous than a familiar face._ Morrigan was sent by Gaspard and Evelyn to take care of the Inquisition’s loose ends now that Orlais owned the organization.

Evelyn wasn’t the type to keep around those she didn’t feel one hundred percent allegiance from. Her thoughts flew to Josephine and the realization that if the mage or that _fire-headed whore_ touched a hair on her friend’s head there would be no one that could save her or Evelyn from her wrath from the Fade.

Morrigan knelt to peer in her face.

“Is there no line you will not cross, Leliana? We weren’t close during the Blight, but I thought we respected one another enough to not do something like this. _Idalya_! She… she was my _only_ friend; _how could you do this_?” The desperation in Morrigan’s voice scared her more each second, she laid prone under the powerful witch towering above her.

Leliana gasped for broken breaths as she tried to talk. _Dal_. Maker, of course, she’d seen her. “I… she… Corypheus…” she collapsed as her lungs refused to draw air, instead forcing blood up her throat as she spat on the immaculately tended lawn of the palace. Blood splattered across her face, crimson beads dripping down her Inquisition uniform.

“That’s the Inquisition’s excuse? You use your treachery and lies to kill an Empress, so you can defeat _Corypheus_? I heard rumors of Lady Nightingale, but I never thought you’d sink so low as to steal Idalya’s face to get the upper hand.” The mage rattled on, her weariness cutting through her anger. “Did you not think you could complete your plan without distracting me? To see my greatest regret walking by unknowing of my existence. I will hate you _forever_ for what you have done Nightingale, but luckily for you, your life will end soon.”

Morrigan’s words stuck in her chest like she was impaled on her own daggers. _She did not know what Idalya was_. She believed the servant was a spy resembling a dead woman as a distraction.

With all the energy she had remaining, she reached out and grabbed Morrigan by her onyx leather boot not pulling forward but holding on and willing the witch to look at her. Vengeance filled Morrigan’s eyes, but Leliana numbly reached into the side pocket of her uniform to remove a silver locket with an engraved griffin suspended on a long silver chain. She shoved the necklace into Morrigan’s skirts as the witch looked down in disbelief at the Spymaster’s odd maneuver.

The mage’s breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of the pendant. One hand flying over her mouth as the other ripped the chain from Leliana’s.

“No...” the witch kicked out of Leliana’s faint grip and retreated until her back was flush against the line of manicured hedges. _“No!_ ” her cry of anguish as she pressed both hands over her face was more than Leliana could handle.

She laid her cheek down against the cool blades of grass as she tried to block out the witch’s cries, feeling the blood fill her lungs. _This is what I deserve_. _This is the least I deserve for what I have done to Idalya_.

Her senses dulled, and she found she cared less at how difficult it was to breathe as the cold spread throughout her limbs. She was jarred as her body was flipped over, a stream of ice spreading across her chest. Her vision cleared as Morrigan poured healing magic into her broken chest cavity. Her lungs contracted strongly at once and she gasped out loud as air rushed back into her chest.

Morrigan’s eyes continued to direct fury in her direction. “No dying Spymaster until I have answers.” Leliana could feel life spreading back into her limbs as her lungs pushed life-giving oxygen back to her floundering body.

“I had… to… dragon.” Speaking was still beyond her abilities.

“Dragon? Corypheus’? Why would that have anything to do with Idalya? Unless…” her golden eyes grew wide. “ _The archdemon._ ” The witch ran her fingers over the clasp on the necklace she once repaired with quivering hands in her grief.

“How?” she asked. “No, I do not want to know. Violating some laws of magic are too much.” _She_ _’d really get along with Solas_. “You brought her spirit out of the Fade after ten years?”

“… Not exactly.” Leliana gasped as she moved upright. Her head spun from the blood she had lost.

“What do you mean?” the witch was on her faster than she expected, grabbing the collar of her dress uniform and pulling her face toward her so they were nose to nose glaring into each other’s eyes. “What does _not exactly_ mean?”

“Her spirit…” Leliana’s voice broke. She brought a fist to her mouth as she fought to keep tears back in front of this woman she couldn’t stand.

Morrigan remained disturbingly close to Leliana waiting for whatever the woman could not say out loud. Leliana swallowed and met the mage’s eyes. “Her spirit was not in the Fade, Morrigan.” The mage’s hold on her weakened enough that she could wrench herself away and stumble back from the witch.

“Not in the Fade? That cannot be… not Idalya.”

Leliana struggled to rise to her feet and would not let herself look away from the woman’s pain. _I deserve this, never forget that_. She caused this to happen to Idalya and she would pay the price forever.

“When an Archdemon dies, its soul leaves its body and enters the nearest blighted creature. Darkspawn are empty vessels, but if it enters the body of a Grey Warden which has a soul…” Leliana shook her head as the words poured out of her. Other than discussing with Fiona, she had never uttered these secrets out loud. “the two fight and destroy one another.” She wiped a tear from her eye, “When the archdemon entered her body, her soul destroyed it saving Ferelden at the cost of her own.”

Morrigan backed away, Leliana’s words washing over her in waves in horror.

“Using contacts, I discovered the Wardens were importing rare ingredients for a ritual and on site, they found how they pieced the demon’s soul together. Morrigan,” the witches’ hands balled into fists with magic circling them, “without her, Corypheus was immortal and… I could not leave her like that. She died to save us, the thought she did not rest in the Fade destroyed me. How could the Maker do this?” her face fell into her hands. “She gave everything to save his people and her reward is an eternity of nothing? How could the Maker do _this_?”

“Because there is no Maker!” Morrigan shot back. “If there was, why would the Blight exist? And if by some reason the Maker cursed the world with darkspawn and Blights, why would he rest the fate of the world on the shoulders of a child, Leliana?” Morrigan turned her back, the magic in her palms glowing brighter. “She was a frightened child your Maker cast into oblivion after she sacrificed herself. Talk not of your Maker because he is not listening to your prayers.” The witch’s words were filled with venom as she spat them toward her.

The Spymaster stopped holding back her tears, and they rolled over her cheeks leaving streaks down her Inquisition uniform mixing with spatters of drying blood. Morrigan gave a grunt of disgust and strode away, her boots clicking along the stone path. At the edge of the garden, she paused, her back still facing the Spymaster.

“Is it her?” she asked quietly.

“Yes. Her…,” she hesitated, she was still in dangerous territory, “memories did not return with her, but it is _our_ Idalya. You should see her. She loved you.” Her shoulders slumped as she watched conflict spread over the mage’s body.

Morrigan turned to face her with an emotion in her eyes that Leliana had never seen from the mage.

“She was my greatest regret. I could not save my only friend. She only saw the best and made us more than we knew we possessed. How did I repay her?” The mage asked bitterly. “ _I let her die_. She deserved better than the world gave her. I hope she finds it this time.” She traced her hands over her skirts shuffling the wrinkles out of the fabric with jerking and frantic motions. “Speaking of doing better, how have you kept her away from her Ferelden dog lord?”

Leliana stiffened and straightened herself up onto her feet. “We need to talk.”


	30. The Chapter Where Leliana Finds Evelyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her confrontation with Morrigan, Leliana just wants to return to camp. Unfortunately, she finds a drunken Inquisitor in her path.

Leliana shuffled through the halls of the Palace, sulking to camp. Her limbs ached in her exhaustion.

The building was empty save for servants crossing her path at random, avoiding eye contact. Morrigan healed her obvious injuries, but the breaks in her ribs needed time and the cracks in her heart throbbed after talking to that fucking witch.

Morrigan raged but loved Dal enough to overlook what restored her soul. To give the girl a chance at a life she deserved. The Spymaster was overwhelmed with guilt since restoring Dal. She would not regret having Dal alive even if she regretted the actions needed to complete the ritual.

Fiona’s motivations for agreeing to help were secret, but Leliana selfishly did it have her friend back. To fill in the empty piece of her heart. That one more day, she begged the Maker for as Idalya lain still within the quivering shell of her arms.

The Maker remained silent, so Leliana did his work for him. If that banished her from the Maker’s side- so be it. She was over caring about the consequences. Here, the ends absolutely justified the means. Idalya was worth any price. Leliana found comfort because Morrigan came to the same conclusion- disgusted and horrified, but she would never suggest undoing the ritual.

As she cut through the now darkened ballroom, Leliana paused sensing someone else. Her feet slowed as she scanned for danger. Identifying no immediate threat, she climbed the steps leading toward the open doors of the grand balcony.

Her searching eyes found Evelyn in a grandiose chair overlooking the rolling hill of Orlais. She sat adorned still in her flowing ebony and gold gown. Her loose auburn curls floated behind her from the chilled breeze. She held a glass of sloshing amber liquid in one hand and an almost empty bottle of brandy in the other. The anchor sparked, reflecting fragments of light through the remaining liquor.

“Is this not a grand night, Leliana?” Slurred words slid out her deceitful lips as she lifted her glass in the air unsteadily.

“It is a night that will be remembered in Orlais for many generations, Inquisitor” Leliana found the ability to slip back into her role after her confrontation with Morrigan. Evelyn was the last person she trusted to see her vulnerable.

“The Inquisition and Empire of Orlais- the greatest partnership in the history of Thedas. We will send Corypheus tumbling into the deepest pits of the Fade.” She clinked her glass to the decanter celebrating only herself.

“Then what? We defeat Corypheus and find ourselves aligned with Orlais. That will cause problems with Ferelden.”

“And what of them?” Her brandy splashed as she refilled her glass and absorbed into the embroidered fabric of her dress. “That is for Gaspard to deal with as he sees fit. I have no interest in the brutes, but Gaspard wishes to see them bow down and beg like the dogs they are. So, it shall be. Ferelden will come to fear the power of the United Inquisition and Orlais.”

A chill ran the length of her spine at Evelyn’s belligerent words. She may be drunk, but Evelyn was, for once, being honest. Gaspard’s wish to invade Ferelden would come true with the power the Inquisition granted them. Half their army was Ferelden-born, yet they’d be tasked to attack their homeland for the glory of the Orlesian Empire, an empire that controlled their home just a generation ago.

Her fingers dusted over the edge of her concealed dagger as she considered slitting the Inquisitor’s throat as she sat intoxicated in the ballroom. The scene of the gregarious display which allowed an Empress to die in cold blood, the same as Evelyn sliding the blade across her neck herself.

“Was it worth it?” The question forced its way past her lips.

Evelyn threw her head back and laughed, a throaty sound that echoed in the empty hall.

“It was the fairy tale of girl meets boy and then the boy offers her the entire world on a platter. I spent my entire life being groomed to be a decoration on a man’s arm, a trophy of conquest until I fulfilled my duty and birthed that idiot a son to continue their name.” She spat on the floor in front of her. “You ask, _‘Was it worth it_?’ What do you think, Spymaster? In one night I destroyed the cage waiting for me after this end. Yes, it was worth it. _It will always be worth it._ ”

“Understood, Inquisitor.” The Spymaster nodded and limped her way past the drunken bitch.

“I thought if anyone understood surviving, it would be you.”

“Oh, I understand. I feel remorse and guilt where you have none.”

Evelyn tilted her head back and emptied the contents of her glass. “There will be plenty of work available for a woman of your skill set when this Corypheus business is over, Spymaster, I hope we will have your commitment and dedication as time continues.”

Leliana shined the brightest fakest smile she could summon towards the vile woman. “Inquisitor, I shall remain your adviser while the Inquisition has need of me.”

“Good,” Evelyn straightened in her chair, “your skills are necessary ones. It is so easy for soldiers to die in the field when given bad intel. It would be a shame for something terrible to happen to anyone you care about.” Evelyn cocked an eyebrow at her as the Spymaster’s blood ran cold.

“Understood.” Her answer was curt. What else was there to say? Well… “Hey, Evelyn?” The Inquisitor tilted her head, intrigued. “ _Go fuck yourself_.” It was undignified, and she was sure she’d pay for the comment later, but at this moment it felt _right_.

Evelyn grinned, her burgundy painted lips upturned into a sneer. “My dear Spymaster, why fuck yourself, when you can get an Emperor to do it for you?” Her smile held, but it did not reach her eyes devoid of their normal fire.

Leliana thought of her own face as she laid down her cheek onto the chilled ground, giving up her life force to the Fade and wondered if her own eyes reflected the same look.

This was a nightmare come to life. She'd rather face Morrigan squeezing the life from her lungs than watch this volatile woman make threats against Idalya. She expected this move earlier. Dal commanded more respect than the Inquisitor because she earned it instead of controlling through fear.

Evelyn should fear the Warden. Idalya could topple an empire by willing it. Evelyn outmaneuvered people and tried to outsmart and trick people but Idalya would make it happen through the loyalty of those who served her.

She now knew the answer to Morrigan's question: The Maker placed the world on her shoulders because she could carry it. She poured her heart into everything she did whether fighting, training, friendship or love. You knew she would never steer you wrong, and that is why Evelyn should fear her. The dark-skinned, white-haired elf she saw as weak held a strength Evelyn would never understand.

She exited toward the barracks. Leliana took deep breaths of the cool air letting it fill her functioning lungs as she avoided the thought of close she came to opening the slender throat of the woman to whom she swore her allegiance to in front of Orlais.


	31. The Chapter Where the Inquisition Plans for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Orlesian peace talks are over, but Varric receives a letter that changes the Inquisition's plans for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Just a heads up that I started posting some of the character study practices I write for warmups that don't involve spoilers for later chapters. "The Weight of These Chains" a short Cullen/Ev story is up now. 
> 
> Also, keep your eyes peeled for a fluffier O&A AU that will be popping up that I've been working on for Camp Nanowrimo this April.

The stone path opened into the split camp in the fields below the palace. Soldiers marched in ordered lines. No one made eye contact as Idalya moved silent past. No one noticed the elf with the solemn and sunken face drifting like a spirit.

Cullen's Commander tent was easy to decipher. Massive compared to nearby tents and the focal point for both sides of the camp. Cullen was forced, per Josephine, to stay in a golden room, befitting his position, in the palace. Away from the Ambassador’s prying eyes, he spent the most time here, losing himself to work to keep his mind off the coming talks and Evelyn’s avoidance.

The guard on duty stepped aside allowing Idalya to push aside the leather flap and step into the dimness.

Around the makeshift war table in the center of the room stood Cullen, his jacket removed, cream sleeveless tunic underneath. His hair was a frazzled mess as he ran his hands through the locks at every tense turn of conversation. Dark circles set deeply under his eyes. From his gaunt features, she knew sleep would elude the ex-Templar.

Leliana signature amethyst woven jacket had returned. Its hood pulled far over her auburn hair to disguise her eyes. Her hands gripped the sides of the table as she avoided acknowledging Dal.

Their Ambassador looked immaculate as usual still in her evening's attire. Her eyes held heavy bags as exhaustion set in.

The Seeker was back in her armor, elbows propped on the table. Her face pointed at the table hiding her expression which Dal presumed to be a perfect combination of disgust and frustration.

Idalya remained quiet, hiding in a far corner. Her blood-stained servants dress distanced her from the frustrated and forlorn advisers.

“What do you suggest we do, Leliana?” Cassandra’s heavy accent boomed.

The Spymaster’s face reflected her annoyance. “I suggest we stay focused on our needs and finding the resources to accomplish them, Cassandra.” Every syllable was overemphasized as the bard made sure her meaning wasn’t twisted. “Varric’s letter said Marion Hawke is heading towards Skyhold as we speak. If the situation is as dire as she states, a group should meet her in the Western Approach. If this concerns the Wardens, it’s important that we discover what’s happening. We must find volunteers to set out…”

“ _I_ _’ll go._ ”

Idalya voice was clear as exited the dark toward the candlelit table. She hadn’t known she would volunteer until her feet propelled her forward to join the circle of advisers. If there was information about the disappearing Wardens, the responsibility was hers to find it.

“Absolutely not, I forbid it!” Leliana’s answer was a lightning-quick slap to her face.

The Spymaster was on edge, but even Dal was taken aback to hear the anger surging in her voice. Even more surprising was the anger erupting to the surface out of the depths of her soul, deep-seated and slow burning, since the day she awoke screaming on a table like an infant entering the world.

“You _forbid_ it? Am I a child to you, Leliana?” Her anger flew past her lips toward the woman who she thought of as a sister. “I am no one's to _control!_ ”

Before she contemplated moving, Cullen blocked her view. One hand braced against her shoulder, the other wrapped painfully around her wrist- in her hand the dagger she did not remember removing from its sheath.

She stumbled in confusion, the dagger dropping from her hand to the floor as she avoided the concern in Cullen’s hazel eyes. 

Josephine quivered as she watched their organization crumble to dust between her trembling fingers. “Please stop this! We need to keep ourselves together. Our people outside this tent need to see a united front. That is what we are going to give them. No matter what it takes because that is what they deserve!” Josephine never raised her voice, but the effect was immediate as she looked to Leliana with a pointed expression as something passed between the two women.

The Spymaster gave a sigh of defeat before turning to Dal who was barely visible behind the Commander’s broad width. “I’m sorry. We don’t know the repercussions of what happened tonight. Your place is in the Inquisition… _for now_.”

It was not the answer Idalya sought, but at least Leliana acknowledged that she wasn’t a prisoner of the fortress.

Cullen grip remained tight as she struggled to manage her dissipating anger. It faded away much slower than needed to attempt communication with her infuriating best friend.

 _“Fine_.” She freed herself by pushing Cullen with her full force. He stumbled backward from her unexpected show of strength. “I’ll stay at Skyhold while the Inquisition needs me.  I am not there to be _babysat_. I am following orders for the good of Thedas, not for you to keep as a decorative lapdog.”

She stormed out of the tent. Any response from the Spymaster would send her after the woman again with a dagger in hand. Two full strides into the darkness and she crashed hard into a solid mass which jolted her back into reality. She grabbed her aching arm and adjusted her eyes to the darkness.

As her pupils dilated, Evelyn suddenly came into focus, the rogue’s eyebrows raised in genuine surprise that the elf barreled into her. Idalya should have known Evelyn approached by smell alone since the waves of liquor wafting from her were nearly visible.

Her and Dorian’s life goals of becoming a walking decanter were becoming closer to the truth. The two women stood in silence glaring.

“Are we letting any rabble into meetings these days?” Evelyn questioned.

Regretting her decision to not retrieve her dagger, a noise of frustration ripped from Idalya’s throat as she strode past Evelyn. The Inquisitor chuckled to herself as she tried to keep her inebriated balance in her ball gown and heels.

Dal didn’t slow her pace until she was deep inside the Templar side of camp and the memory of the woman’s laughter faded. Rylen directed soldiers for overnight patrols ahead.  As she approached him, his eyes caressed from shoulder to hip with a cheeky grin as she stomped towards him, her hand out in expectation.

“ _Mmm_ … servant looks good on you. You should keep this outfit.” He joked with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Idalya was not in the mood for his usual antics. Unphased by his advances she kept her hand extended.

“Hand it over.”

“No idea what you are talking about, Doll.” The Templar replied, both hands up in innocent surrender. Dal cocked an eyebrow.

 _“Booze_. Hand it over. Do not make me find Cullen and have him requisition it away.”

Rylen rolled his eyes in defeat before pulling a full flask out of the breast pocket of his uniform. She quickly uncapped the flask and tipped her head back as burning relief traveled the length of her throat. Comfort spread through her stomach to her chest from the disgusting blend of wine and whiskey, she guessed. She didn’t care if it dulled her aching pain.

“Drinking to forget, dear? If not, I would slow down.” he shrugged, “plus it’s all the booze I have and Skyhold is far away to listen to Cullen speak that much.”

“I’ve forgotten enough things, I don’t want to feel right now.”

“You know what I do? A roll around with a pretty little thing- I bet I could help clear your mind.” His mouth turned up in a crooked grin at her, his eyes sparkling. A wicked child pushing to find his boundaries.

“I'm almost desperate enough to take you up on that offer, Rylen.” She sighed.

At her confession, his face sobered. He moved to stand shoulder to shoulder staring out across the camp.

“What happened in there, Doll?” He whispered as he peered past her. Soldiers walked their routes ambivalent to the scene of their Knight-Captain speaking to the Hero of Ferelden covered from toes to knees in dried spirals of blood.

The tenderness flooding his voice caused her to lose her barely sustainable composure. Tears pricked her eyes, but she eliminated the evidence since Rylen’s job wasn’t to sew the broken pieces of her heart back together. She tried to fake a smile for his benefit, but sighed, realizing she couldn’t lie anymore.

“I just need _this_.” She jiggled the flask. “I will stay here with the soldiers. I can’t return to my room.” The Templar looked concerned but continued listening. “Inform Cullen. He’ll be concerned, but not surprised.”

Rylen nodded in agreement as Dal passed him to find his tent intermixed between the soldiers’ huts. She regretted not being able to return to the Villa room on Gaspard’s property. The beds carved from pieces of the Fade itself. No amount of comfort she could make her stomach Leliana or the rest of the Inquisition right now.

She needed peace. A moment to let the demons quiet inside her mind. Peace would elude the advisers of the Inquisition tonight.

She reached into Rylen’s travel rations to pull out a well-worn linen shirt. Pulling it to her nose she grimaced at the musty worn smell before throwing it back into the bag. Deeper inside, she found a darker shirt that was less offensive than its counterpart. Just the familiar smells of steel and leather.

She pulled her blood-ridden fabric over her head and slipped the shirt over her shoulders. It hung like a potato sack on her frame before crawling into the corner cot and pulling the thin furs over her body.

It required every ounce of her willpower to not run out in the camp and find Barris. What would she do? Demand to know if she was insane? Were they more than comrades?

The fearful part of her did not approve. If she allowed herself to be vulnerable, it could be more dangerous than any enemy they would face. She needed to keep focused at all costs. Whatever almost happened between them already left her feeling shivering and lost. Just a taste of something so sweet made the pain of her existence _unbearable_.

Her hands shook as she lifted the flask to her mouth downing the end of the volatile mix. She threw the flask aside, flopping back onto the bedroll.

So confident she’d been entering this mission. Hours later, she was a drunken and shaking wreck hiding in Rylen’s tent. Too afraid to face her own emotions. The alcohol strengthened her limbs, and she prayed peace would follow, in some form.

As her eyes fluttered closed, the last thing she saw was Delrin Barris’ emerald eyes boring into hers.


	32. The Chapter Where Idalya Travels Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her chaotic first day with the Inquisition, Idalya prays to find some peace in the Fade.

_Bare feet slapped the polished stone floors as she walked down an elaborate hallway. Framed portraits of pale-skinned wealth lined both sides. A single door closed in the distance. Her eyes drifted toward other details, but the dream pulled them back to the entryway, unable to look elsewhere._

_She reached the mountainous and ornate door, two distinctive voices raised on the other side. Her fingers ran along the grain of the wood, sensing the thrum of the fade running through it._

_The longer she fade walked, the more an outsider she became to her memories. As time passed, the less she cared who she was. The drive to uncover lost. Nothing positive waited in these memories._

_The voices grew louder as a dull ache radiated through her chest. There were rules to the visions Solas carefully laid out for her- rules to protect her as she navigated the broken parts of her mind._

_Rules she was violating, by traveling here without the elf_ _’s guidance._

_She gripped the knob of the door within her shaking hands to gape it open wide enough to hear._

_“Why would you do that? What about us, Dal?” The Ferelden is frustrated, his accent striking her in the pit of her stomach. The same voice whispering across a million memories, now entering her ears unfiltered._

_A muffled sob echoes before her own voice, desperate, rings out._ _“I know. But this is important.” Her heart breaks as she hears the words. They have no context, but the lingering pain in her chest is real._

_More words come from the man_ _’s voice, his anger rising, but Idalya cannot understand, but their menacing tone indisputable._

_“It's the right move, the smart one. And I think you know, too.”_

_Something crashes within the room. Heavy booming footsteps speed toward her. She ducks out of the way, hugging her back against the wall. By instinct she threw her hands over her eyes as she waited, her heart pounding in her throat._

_Holding her breath, the form of the human-shaped cloud of light stomped down the hallway muttering curses in the accent twisting a knife in her chest. When the sound of footsteps disappeared, she lowered her hands and slowly opened one eye at a time to find she remained in the memory and avoided being pushed away by the approaching light._

_She stepped through the now open door. It was a well-decorated study with tapestries hanging over golden walls, a warm fire burning in the fireplace. Her numb feet follow the sounds of muffled cries._

_Sitting alone on the floor Idalya she_ _sees_ _herself. Warden armor glittering in the reflected flames. Her despairing face resting on an etagere, hands over her mouth to push the sounds of sorrow back down her throat where they belonged. This was a broken girl, a child expected to do the impossible._

_Idalya knelt next to the girl. With shivering fingers, she brushed the tips over the girl_ _’s braided white hair trying to smooth the flyaway, but her fingers drifted through the strands instead as the Fade parted._

_A flickering presence from the distance grew stronger as it flew toward her._

_With slow and precise words, she whispered,_ _“Go. Away. Solas. Leave here now.”_

_The elf ignored her and entered the room. He took a seat in the opposite elegant chair._

_Idalya turned to him, anger filling her._ _“What are you doing? I told you to leave!”_

_His demeanor remained calm as he watched the scene, his features unmoving._ _“You’re not supposed to be here either. We agreed that I would help you navigate the Fade to ensure your safety. You cannot have another accidental slip into the Fade. There’s only so many excuses a Templar will accept before they come for an untrained apostate.” He threw his hand out to his side in irritation. “And yet here you are, by yourself in Denerim of all places…”_

_Solas wove his fingers together, resting his chin on the threading as he scolded her like a child. They all treated her like a fucking child. Idalya darted her eyes away, her anger too deep, but it was not for him. It was not for Barris, nor the Inquisition, or even Leliana as much as she deserved it. Her anger belonged to herself as stupid as it was.  She placed the entire blame for her missing memories on herself and her misguided attempts to navigate them._

_Solas sat quietly, his analytical cobalt eyes memorizing every detail around them. He rested his hands on his knee and he leaned toward her, the harsh lines of his face softening._

_“What did you see?” he coaxed._

_Idalya couldn_ _’t break her focus from the sobbing girl. Deep inside she knew this was her, yet her desire to hold and comfort the girl, to wipe away her tears of grief was too much for Dal to resist._

_Solas was right, she should leave. She did not want this memory and for the first time was grateful she didn_ _’t remember the purpose of this fight, the person she was arguing with, or the trauma it caused._

_“There was an argument…” her voice cracked, eyes glued to the sobbing Idalya. “A man, Ferelden, was arguing with me. I don’t understand what about, but it broke my heart. The memory sewed into my flesh.”_

_Solas focused, nodding his head as she explained the details from the argument._

_“Your suggestion to not engage with the missing pieces worked- the man stormed out, and although I felt the pull to be closer, I remained after he left the memory. I didn't want this memory back. Maybe I forgot everything for a reason, Solas? How much pain can a person take before giving up? I think I wanted to die…” her voice faded as tears welled in her eyes, matching the destroyed version of herself still quivering on the floor._

_“We need to leave,” Solas announced and was on his feet in a graceful motion. “You… we need to be somewhere safer. You’ve had a difficult first night with the Inquisition. This is not the time for traumatic memories to cascade back.” He walked held out his hand._

_She knew it was there but would not look away from her crying self._

_“Now. Idalya. You will come willingly, or I will force you awake. You are hurting yourself.”_

_Dal saw the truth in his words even if it hurt to acknowledge them. She placed her shaking hand into his and their fingers wove together as she felt the pull of the memory around them fade._

_“Take me where you’re safe” he instructed, and she hesitated that she had no such sanctuary._

_A brief flicker of standing in Barris_ _’ arms earlier filled her vision. She clenched her eyes and threw the image out of her mind before it could take hold. She might share her unknown past with Solas, but she was not ready to share her current failures with her teacher._

_He squeezed her hand sensing her hesitation and the image lingering shifted away as their bodies moved through the mists at incredible speeds. she opened her eyes, as they came to a rest, and a ball formed within her chest._

_A tattered hovel, a small fire burning in the hearth. Fresh vegetables filling the air from a metal cauldron boiling over the fire. Small bedrolls aligned on the floor next to a small, crumbling bed._

_“Where are we, Idalya?” Solas asked, still on alert for anything lurking within her memories._

_“Home.” She mumbled to not betray the emotions rampaging through her heart. “I grew up here. My mother raised my family here after my father died. She worked as a servant in Denerim castle. The older siblings minded the younger until old enough to find their own work.” Every detail remained from twenty years ago._

_“It makes sense I came here. Even with the chaos happening in the Alienage, it never came past these doors. My mother shielded us from the violence and anger in the world. I never knew growing up we needed anything or how much people hated us beyond the walls. I inquired for books on the fifth blight but discovered Skyhold had none. Leliana found that the Alienage burned down when the darkspawn attacked._

_“All of my siblings died that day. Leliana could not find any information on my mother. I suppose that’s for the best. My mother could not live with the loss of all her children in one day.” She sat on the small bedroll that once belonged to her much smaller form. “What I would not give to have this place still be real…”_

_Solas approached and using a long, thin finger tapped on the top of her head as she frowned at him._

_“It does, Idalya. It exists in here, in the Fade. You still have these memories, these moments that defined who you were. They will always stay with you.”_

_There was a kindness in his words she craved more than air. She needed reassurance there was more to life than regret and death._

_Idalya smiled. A flicker of something resembling happiness that she could come back here whenever she wanted. Solas kneeled in front of her._

_“What happened, Asha? You were upset from the Palace, but I can sense something else. Are you okay?”_

_She scoffed at his question knowing he saw the same atrocities she had._

_“No. I am not close to all right. Seeing those slaughtered elves reminded me of my mother. Thinking about all the families that would wait for someone to return home, I remember what that feeling when my father never came home. Then Evelyn… Maker, take that woman. She let Celene die after we came here to save her. Evelyn has her own agenda and who knows the damage she’ll cause. Then Barris….” Her words trailed off. Solas remained kneeling quietly as he waited for her answer._

_The mage looked uncomfortable as her words dawned in his head, his empathy turning to anger._ _“Did… did he harm you?” He whispered, his mana swirling around him. She shook her head._

_“Nothing like that.” She sighed as she looked away. There was no doubt she was a total mess. “We were dancing and then he… held me. In the middle of the palace after all this pain and I felt a joy greater than I remembered.” She shook her head at her honest confession. “I wanted more, but… I am uncertain he wants more from me.”_

_Solas rolled his eyes hard_

_“Are you kidding me? I am questioning your perception skills and your memory- if that Templar burned more for you, he would erupt in flames, child.”_

_Dal_ _’s eyes cast to the dirt floor below her, cheeks filling with color as she processed his words._

_“Dal,” he reached and took her cold hand between his, “You have been through so much. Asha, you deserve happiness. Do not deny yourself those moments because they are the true regrets when the end comes once and for all.” The two elves sat in silence as Idalya considered his advice._

_He stood._ _“I must leave. I need to fade walk through parts of the palace before we leave. Will you be safe?”_

_She nodded, laying down on her side, pulling her knees tightly to her chest. Shivers wracked her body as she realized she was still wearing Rylen_ _’s shirt. From within her memory, Solas removed a hand-stitched blanket off the bed and draped it over her quivering frame as her eyes became heavy. She was uncertain what sleep in the Fade looked like, but she felt so unburdened it seemed insane to not follow her instincts._

_Her eyes shut against their will as Solas tucked the blanket around her while humming an unfamiliar song. Under his breath, she could hear him singing words in Elven she didn_ _’t understand as she drifted away, but still made her smile just the same._

_“Elgara vallas, da'len, Melava somniar, Mala tara aravas, Mala tara aravas."_


	33. The Chapter Where Barris Assumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the peace talks, it doesn't take long for Barris to discover where Dal spent the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays in posting. I had some major dental issues pop up on Tuesday, so my posting schedule will be off for a few days until I get my tooth fixed.

As predicted, Cullen woke the entire camp, a frantic ball of energy, at the first rays of dawn broke across the horizon. Barris used the back of his wrist to wipe an errant trail of sweat from his forehead as he packed another crate to return to Skyhold. Everyone worked in silence. Eyes pointed toward the ground to avoid attracting the Commander’s menacing and bloodshot ones.

Hard labor was not a regular duty for Templar, but Barris enjoyed it, reminded of his early years on the family homestead. Long summer days spent tending to the land and stables. His parents disapproved. Luckily, his father was so invested in training his brother, the heir, that Delrin slipped out of the house every morning to care for the family’s horses and mabari.

Physical work was a comfort to him, but today his stomach twisted and felt as unbalanced as their exhausted and confused Commander looked.

Securing the crate with a shove, he stood rolling his shoulders back to release the tension settling into his collarbones. Across the camp he spotted Rylen, propped up against a tree on the outskirts of the camp, directing the soldiers pulling a wooden hauling wagon through the camp to collect the crates.

Rylen’s eyes were morose, heavy-lidded with a ring of ruby darkening the rim. Barris noted Cullen’s guards stationed outside Rylen’s tent upon rising. It hadn’t taken long for the rumors drifting through camp that the Elven warden spent the entire night within to find him. He cringed as what his soldiers crassly conjectured what happened within the confines of its walls last night. The Knight-Captain had bedded the spark-fire Warden becoming an overnight hero to the young recruits.

Unable to listen further, he had snapped at the soldiers to channel the energy their mouths were using into their hands and get packing.

The Warden was a grown woman and allowed to make her own decisions without judgment, but Barris’ stomach dropped into the bottom of his armor when he had heard she entered his best friend’s tent under the protective cover of night.

He focused on the unending list of tasks needing to be accomplished, but his betrayer mind kept drifting back to her encircled within his arms as they waltzed below the great balcony; of his lips drifting across her silky skin to brush against her velvet-coated ones before they were interrupted by the Seeker and Warden.

After his farewells, he’d arrived in camp to find Cullen sitting behind his desk, his face devoid of emotion, staring blankly at the wall. Barris knew no adequate words of comfort for his friend. He followed their pattern of ignoring the horror surrounding them and spoke directly to the Commander always on duty even when Cullen could not function for one of his many ever growing complicated reasons. To his relief, the Commander gave direction for the soldiers as he prepared for to meet with the Inquisition’s advisers.

Barris set about delegating the Commander’s instructions, his body defaulting into officer mode until he flopped exhausted onto his bedroll still dressed in his dress uniform, staring at the tiny irregularities on the ceiling. As his tasks diminished in number, his mind was overtaken by images of Idalya’s gray and lavender eyes peering up at him through her long lashes and her fragrant perfume that permeated citrus deep into the linen of his uniform.

Staring into her endless eyes, he doubted everything the Chantry taught him. His job required everything. His heart, his mind, his body… the Chantry expected no less, but as he felt her trembling against his fingertips- _he hadn_ _’t cared_. He swore his life to the Chantry but found himself pulled away by what they’d call an _abomination._

For one moment he allowed himself to wish he’d walked a different path. To live the sheltered life of a noble, to sit and bide his time until her feet graced the dirt of Thedas once more.

They were both soldiers. Barris understood the ramifications that neither might survive this fight against Corypheus. There was a possibility he could lower his guard to let himself hold her, only to have her life slip away again through his fingers.

His rest was fitful as he tossed on his cot trying to choose his words while fighting the growing fear that as the morning dawned she would doubt her actions.

Cullen came barging into his tent at the first break of light, as expected. His eyes bloodshot and hands shaking violently at his sides from withdrawal. Barris stepped away from Cullen to take his morning draught of lyrium. Many of Templar drained theirs in front of the Commander without pause, even as they suspected Cullen had stopped taking his, but Barris couldn’t. He knew he’d never drink lyrium again in front of his friend while he struggled with to break away from the chains of the Chantry. The chains he’d spent the night questioning himself.

Close to afternoon, he approached Rylen after avoiding him all morning. He pushed down the insecurities that made him feel like a child. The group of soldiers he was directing, left to disassemble the last part of the camp, while Rylen’s hands massaged his temples and he leaned back heavily against the tree keeping him upright.

He was hung over and in bad shape. Barris couldn’t find it within himself to have empathy at this moment.

“You’re lagging.” He announced, much louder than needed, and grinned internally at Rylen’s painful flinch at the booming words.

“I’m aware.” Rylen grimaced, his skin dampening to a golden shade as the waves of nausea crested. “I could really use help over here if you’ve got men to spare.”

“Or you can show up to work, prepared to… I don’t know, actually work.” Barris wasn’t a flippant man of anger but having Rylen within his sight proved that assumption wrong.

Rylen scoffed, as he pushed himself off the tree and stood unsteadily on his feet in the swaying world. “ _Maker,_ Barris, I thought you’d be more understanding. I was up-all-night comforting…”

Barris’ fist moved of its own accord as, within a blink of an eye, he socked Rylen straight in the nose, his full weight behind the swing. The motion pushed Rylen behind a few paces until his back pressed against the tree, his hands holding his nose as a trickle of blood oozed out of both nostrils.

Barris’ eyes opened widely, understanding sinking in, his breath ragged as his anger rushed to the surface. Part of him was mortified while part filled with gratification at watching his friend’s pain- this day was not starting on a high note.

 _“FUCK!_ ” Rylen screamed as he wiped the blood onto the sleeve of his tunic. “What in Andraste’s name has gotten into you?”

Barris was silent as he decided the cost of discussing his anger or if he should apologize and walk away. _What was he doing?_ Rylen was Cullen’s second-in-command and his superior in the Inquisition, who could order him into shackles and thrown into the dungeons of Skyhold when they returned. If he wanted a career, and a friend, after today then he needed to speak his mind.

Clenching his jaw, he looked his friend directly in the eyes. “ _Idalya_.” The word was harsh as it gritted out through his teeth and he wasn’t surprised as the confused look on Rylen’s face melted away into understanding before transforming into a look of unease.

Rylen held up his hands in a gesture of placation, his friend an animal he feared spooking. “Look Delrin, I didn’t realize it would upset you. _She found me and said she was desperate_ …”

This time Barris purposely propelled his fist forward as he punched Rylen a second time. Blood flowed gushed from his nostrils down the front of the man’s tunic as he sunk down the tree, dizziness overtaking him as he mumbled curses the entire sinking trip. Barris wasn’t proud of his actions, but at this moment he didn’t care, as he shook out the radiating pain in the knuckles.

Rylen uttered a groan as he held the nostrils together on his broken nose to keep the gushes of blood contained. He looked up at Barris, shaking his head. “That’s the _last time_ I let that girl steal my stuff,” Rylen mumbled, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Barris raised his eyebrows. Now he was confused.

“What do you mean?” He asked, the understanding he might be wrong spread quickly through his limbs.

“ _Doll_. She was a total disaster. The damn girl demanded the last of my booze and someplace to sleep, so I gave her my tent for the night.”

“If she took your booze, how are you so hung over?” Hope blossomed in his apprehensive gut.

Rylen shrugged, another gush of blood leaking out between his clumsy fingers. “I needed someplace to sleep, so I figured I’d take Cullen’s tent since he was in the Villa, but I found him in his tent and realized he shouldn’t be alone. I was awake until daybreak drinking with him.”

_What in the Maker_ _’s name have I done?_

“Please forgive me.” Barris sank to his knees, armor rattling, as he examined the crooked appendage formerly known as Rylen’s nose.

“Delrin, man… what has gotten into you? I’ve been sucker punched by a lot of Templars, but never in my days did I think you’d be one.” He spits another mouthful of blood onto the emerald grass and Barris cringed as the crimson beads slid down the blades.

Disappointment funneled its way through his body for not giving Rylen a chance to explain himself and for knowing he had no reason to feel like he lost something he never had. She had no obligation to him, and yet the pain that manifested at the rumors swallowed him whole. Now forced to look at consequences of losing control as a Templar.

“I don’t know, Rylen. I really don’t know.” He squeezed one arm underneath both of Rylen’s as he helped the wobbling man to his feet. The longer his nose gushed, the paler he became from blood loss, hangover, and exhaustion.

“Where are you taking me?” Rylen slurred, as Barris dragged his feet across the ground.

“To Pavus, for healing.”

Dorian was one of the few people here that understood discretion. He could try to seek Solas, but he half expected the elf to strike him with magic for putting his unworthy hands on the Warden. Barris continued helping Rylen, which more resembled him pulling the large man to the side camp out of the line of the sight from his soldiers.

“So… you and the Hero, ay?”

He knew the question was coming, and he didn’t feel like answering, but Rylen had just taken two fists for his insecurity. He deserved to know.

“It’s complicated.” He spoke under his breath as Rylen’s weight grew heavier on each step as his legs gave out.

“It always is.” Rylen was drenched in his own blood and looked like he’d taken a stomach wound. “You care for her?”

Barris turned to meet his friend’s exhausted eyes. “I really could.” He admitted. The _possibly_ of loving the guarded Warden passed long ago and had grown into something deeper, richer, the closer he moved to her.

The two men remained in silence for a moment until Rylen cracked a bloody-toothed grin. Both men laughed as Barris dragged him across the field towards the only member of the Inquisition drunker than the Knight-Captain himself.

A pair of noisy footsteps approached, and Barris mentally prepared excuses as to what happened to Rylen. Turning his head, he noted it was Jim, a messenger for the Inquisitor who approached as quick as his awkward limbs allowed. Jim wasn’t the smartest, graceful, or agile of runners in the Inquisition, but he was one of the few scouts that would work with Evelyn, so despite almost falling over his own feet every few steps, his job position remained a stable one.

“Excuse me, Ser Barris!” As he ran to catch up to the two Templars, he tripped over his own boots and Barris reached out on instinct with his free arm to catch the diminutive man from face-planting into the field. “Oh, thank you! So sorry, Ser. You've been summoned to speak with the Inquisitor.”

Barris sighed as he stood the messenger up and balanced the fading Templar’s weight against his other hip. “Do you have other messages to deliver?”

The messenger shook his head, a blush flushing across his cheeks at the embarrassing accident that almost happened.

“I need you to fetch Master Pavus, immediately. The Knight-Captain has broken his nose and Dorian is needed urgently to attend to him. Can you deliver that?”

Jim nodded and turned on his heel to leave almost tripping over his boots again while both Templars cringed at his. Barris set Rylen down against crate on the outside of the camping field.

“Sorry buddy, I got to take this,” Barris observed helplessly the mess Rylen’s clothes were.

“I understand, brother.” Rylen reached out his arm and Barris knelt to match it, hand to elbow.

“I really am sorry…” He began before Rylen’s hacking cough silenced him.

“It’s okay. Go talk to _Lady Betrayal_ before she gets her small clothes in a twist and sends Cullen to the brig.”

Barris nodded as he rose, his guilt overtaking him at the horrific scene he’d caused. More apologies wouldn’t remedy the situation.

Rylen understood his reaction. There wasn’t time to rethink all his decisions, he needed to accept responsibility for them and move on.

But first, he needed to see why Evelyn summoned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled for the first postings of the O&A AU I've been working on for Camp Nanowrimo to pop up. I'm hoping to have the first chapters up by the end of the week. I hope you guys will enjoy it, it's been a blast to write while editing this massive opus. :)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: http://kmandergirl.tumblr.com


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